


Dancing With Your Ghost

by hcrlaws



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Slow Burn, prepare to wait a long time, sansa misses home, theon is sick of all these boys wanting sansa, theon loves sansa but is in denial for a long long time, theon misses the harlaws more than the greyjoys ( as he should )
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2020-12-07 18:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcrlaws/pseuds/hcrlaws
Summary: Ned makes a last minute decision to bring Theon along to King's Landing with him.Theon doesn't know how much he can hear about knights, Princes and songs, until he wants to be them.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend listening to the song Dancing With Your Ghost by Sasha Sloan because it's the most Theonsa song I have ever heard and describes this fic perfectly. 
> 
> This idea has been flying around for a long time and I've officially decided to write it for myself, and for you guys. Hope you like!
> 
> Kudos, comments etc are greatly appreciated.

There was a silence that ran throughout Winterfell since the tragic fall of Bran Stark. The servants were too afraid to lift their eyes and look Lady Catelyn in the eyes, too afraid of seeing the grief or the anger that lay in those blue orbs. They were not so afraid to meet the kind eyes of Lord Eddard Stark as he travelled through the candle lit corridors and to the chambers where his son was kept, still asleep. 

Ned tried to keep the atmosphere as positive as possible. He was to be the Hand of the King. His daughter, Sansa, was excited to travel to King's Landing and to be married to Joffrey Baratheon, though it would not happen for many years. His other daughter, Arya, was not so impressed to be travelling to King's Landing. She wished to stay in Winterfell, with her brother’s, where she could roll around in the mud and fight with swords. But Ned could not please everyone. 

And he could not please Robb with his new decision either.

Entering the chamber where Bran slept soundly, Ned’s eyes landed on his wife, sat in the corner on a wooden chair, hunched over the work that she was weaving in her shaking hands. But her eyes were on Bran, and not on the work. She barely even blinked for a second - too afraid to take her eyes away and Bran to wake, or worse. 

Ned moves slowly, not wanting to make much sound and disturb her, over to the other side of the fur covered bed his son lay upon his head ducking down to press a single, feather touch kiss against his pale forehead. He was as cold as a stone, not moving a muscle. 

“Has he moved at all since I last saw him?” It had only been a day ago. Just the night before he went to bed, Catelyn not by his side to join him underneath their furs. She refused to leave Bran’s side and Ned could not force her, nor did he want to. 

“Not at all. He hasn’t even moved his finger, not even a little. It’s almost like he’s dead, only the rise and fall of his chest tells me otherwise. Maester Luwin said the worst is over, that there is no fear of death no more but… I still fear.” Her eyes never once came away from the small boy surrounded by furs. 

Ned’s throat closed up at the thought of losing Bran. He had already lost his father, older brother and younger sister. He could not lose a child as well. Bran was still so young, he had only seen his first beheading weeks past. Bran had always been the adventurer, could never stay with his feet on the ground and almost always causing Catelyn a heart attack and grey hairs. Now Bran would wake and never be able to feel below his waist again. He would never climb the walls and look over to the Kings Road again. He would never walk again. Never truly feel like a child again.

Deciding to not beat around, and just outwardly tell her while he was there, Ned told Catelyn the thing he had decided in his study just hours ago. 

“I’m taking Theon with me to King's Landing. Keep him out of your hair.” It was not entirely true. Though Catelyn certainly had a disliking for the mischievous boy, a distaste for his whoring habits and his inappropriate language around the younger children, the real reason Ned was taking Theon with him was for his own peace at mind. As selfish as it may be. 

“You’re taking Theon with you? But Robb-” 

Ned’s eyes close, a deep sigh coming from between his pursed lips. Of course the first thing Cat worried about was her first son and his feelings. Robb was her boy, her first boy. Though Catelyn loved all of her children, Robb would always be her first son. Ned had of course thought of how Robb would take Theon going away to King’s Landing when he first came to the decision. He knew Robb would be upset. 

“Robb will just have to deal with it, Cat. It’s for his good as well. They spend way too much time together and I don’t like it. You don’t like it. Robb trusts Theon too much. He’s a  _ Greyjoy _ .” 

The argument was pathetic. Theon was nothing like the other Greyjoy’s. Theon was the furthest away from Balon that a Greyjoy could be. But salt and iron still ran through his veins and the sea still stormed in Theon’s mind. It would only be a matter of time before the boy cracked. He would crack a lot sooner if Robb allowed him to return to the islands.

Catelyn gave no argument against it. Instead just letting her head hang, giving a small shake of her head as she resumed her weaving. There was nothing left to discuss. With a final kiss to his son’s head, Ned moved to kiss his wife as well, before leaving the chambers, the lit candles shaking while the door closed behind him. 

With his last case of luggage placed on the back of the carriage, Theon turned to take a final look around Winterfell. Though the castle had never been a home for him, nor a place of comfort, Theon couldn’t help but look towards it with a heavy heart. He would miss the sound of Rickon running around the halls early hours of the morning and he would certainly miss the ale that flowed at every feast and got him and Robb so drunk they felt ill. He would definitely miss the little kitchen maid that he could never remember her name, and of course, his favourite whore in Winter Town, Ros. 

But he would most of all miss the sulking teen by his side, Tully blue eyes narrowed like daggers into his father’s back. It caused a chuckle from Theon, hand resting on the saddle of his horse. 

“I cannot believe Father decided this. He needs you to be his dog that much? So what? You can run with his letters and polish his sword for him?” The scoff that came from Robb was hateful, though Theon knew he did not mean it. With a simple shake of his head, his hand drops down onto Robb’s shoulder.

“We both know why he’s taking me with him. And it’s not to run with his letters and polish his sword.” 

It was so Robb and Theon were split apart. Theon wasn’t stupid, though he barely paid attention in Luwin’s lessons. He knew Lord Stark and Lady Stark had a distaste for the amount of time he and their eldest spent together. They had a distaste for Theon in general. He liked to pretend that it wasn’t there, do everything to please Lord Stark, be as polite and gentlemanly as possible for Lady Stark. But it was never good enough. Much like everything he has done was never good enough for his own father. 

Robb’s sulk continued as he turned to Theon, the other men that were climbing upon their horses and the Queen, her daughter and youngest son, followed along by Sansa and Arya just brushing past them as they moved to enter the wheelhouse. Sansa had already had her fit of the day about Theon joining them to King’s Landing, commenting on how his presence will ruin the whole experience for her. 

Theon was not particularly too happy about having to spend more time with the redhead either. There was only so much conversation of knights, Princes and songs that he could hear before he was ready to shove his dagger into his ears and bleed the sound out. 

“I guess this is it then, Greyjoy.” 

“Aye, Stark. This is it.” 

They both stared at each other, pretending to not take notice at the tears that were forming in the others eyes. Theon didn’t know who reached out first, but before long, both of them were wrapped in the others arms, taking a final moment. 

“You will always be my brother.” Robb’s voice was quiet in his ear, a single tear dropping onto Theon’s furs. Theon took a deep breath in just before his own tears could proceed to fall, nodding his head while his hand patted against Robb’s back. 

“And you mine. I’ll look after your sisters and father.” 

And with that, their embrace was broken and Theon was climbing on top of his horse, taking the reins into his hands. Jon walked forward on his own horse, coming to a stop beside him. 

“Can’t say I’m going to miss you,  _ Greyjoy _ .” He hissed out his name, like it was some sort of disease. Theon supposes it was. Everyone said his name with the same sort of tone; never a kind one. Greyjoy was not a name that one carries with pride, but Theon did just to spite everyone else. 

“I won't miss you either,  _ Bastard _ .” Theon sneers the word back at him, almost missing the slight crack of a smile in Jon’s lips. The group begins to move forward as the gates to Winterfell were drawn open and they were welcomed into the green hills and the King’s road. 

“I’ll miss having someone to piss off though, and someone to piss me off in return.” 

Theon snorted, nudging his horse forward and away from Jon while he called over his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you’ll find some sort of criminal to piss off at the wall.”


	2. THEON I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northerner's and the Kings Company make it to the Inn in the Riverlands, deciding to stop for the night.
> 
> It goes from worse to worser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter was only to be about 2k words but I definitely got a little too into it and a little carried away. 
> 
> I still hope you all enjoy. And I hope people know that any comments, thoughts made by Theon are purely just... Theon. I try to not let my own opinions get in the way of fics too much. It's also the first time I've actually wrote in Theon's POV. 
> 
> Kudos, comments etc are appreciated!

The Kings Road was long and dusty. Theon had to squint his eyes because of the sun that beats down onto him, his fur cloak becoming too hot against his skin and causing him to sweat. As he squints his eyes once more, one hand coming off the reins to rub at them, he let out a huff, already sick of the dust getting into them and blinding his vision.

“How much longer till the inn?” He turns his gaze towards the Hound, Sandor Clegane, who was right to him, on top of his own horse with that god awful dog helmet on his head. Though Theon supposed that it was better staring at the helmet than at Clegane’s half burnt face which was quite the horror story to tell your children around a fire.

He practically got a mix between a scoff and a grunt back at him. 

“I’m not your friend, squid. We’ll get to the bloody inn when we get to the bloody inn.”

Theon pulled a face towards the Hound, scowling through the glare of the sun and because of the way he was spoken to. Theon was used to being spoken down to by Northerners — making constant comments on what house he carried on his cloaks, but he was not used to a  _ dog _ being rude. House Clegane was much below Greyjoy. Letting out a deep breath, Theon looks around for something to do — someone to annoy. But the only person near him was Sandor. 

“Where are you from?”

“None of your business.” 

“How did you burn half your face?”

“None of your business.” 

Theon let out a huff, giving a little roll of his eyes. He noticed Sandor making his horse go faster, attempting to create distance between them and escape Theon’s questions, but the young Kraken just nudged his stallion, catching up to the older man. 

“It’s going to be a long journey. If you answered my questions, maybe it would fly by.” 

Pushing his helmet up, his eyes narrowing down on Theon, Sandor let out another grunt, his hands tightening around the reins like he was tightening them around the young boys throat. 

“This journey would go a lot faster if you weren’t here.”   


Theon releases the air he was holding in, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. “Unfortunately for you, dog, I am here. So… Do you like working for Joffrey?” He sends a grin on his face, not paying attention to the scowl that he receives back. 

“That is  _ Prince _ Joffrey to you.”

“Aye, but I’m a Prince as well. Us Princes are on a first name basis with one another.” 

Theon was sure that the Hound muttered something under his breath. Something about Princes’ being ‘up their own arses’, but he wasn’t so sure. He never got the chance to ask anymore questions before Lord Stark was up beside him, giving him that look. All it took was that look for Theon to quit and slow down to walk beside him, just behind the wheelhouse that the girls were inside, while the Kings company moved further forward. 

***

The closer they got to Kings Landing, the more a certain smell seemed to come around. Theon had never smelled something so horrific in his life and he used to live on Pyke, where there was a constant smell of fish and poverty. But by gods did the South  _ stink _ . 

They had arrived at the inn just an hours past, their horses tied to trees since there wasn’t enough room in the stables for them. They were only stopping for the night, continuing the last of their journey towards the capital the following day. Theon had basically been stuck at Ned’s side since they had arrived, a little scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Numerous times he had whined of being bored, of wishing that Robb was with him. But Lord Stark either did not care, or was choosing to ignore him. 

Arya had ran off earlier, causing more chaos no doubt, and Sansa was leading around Lady on her leash, the little pink ribbon hanging off the back of it. Theon’s eyes followed her, watching as the Hound approached and began a conversation with her. His eyebrows frowned downward as he watched them, picking apart at the squirrels meat that was in his hands as he stuffed more into his mouth. 

Usually Theon would have to make a comment on the lack of flavour that was in the meat. Even if it was just a squirrel from the forest, no sight of salt around to put it on the meat to give it more of a feel for  _ home. _ But the young Greyjoy hardly took notice at the bland meat as his eyes stayed locked onto the eldest Stark daughter, watching as she placed the leash for Lady onto the ground and seemed to whisper something to her.

Theon was quick to stand, striding his way over before she had the chance to go off. The Hound was lurking nearby, but didn’t seem to be going with them. Joffrey and Sansa were going alone, and that didn’t sit well with Theon.

“Where are you going?” 

Sansa’s eyes rolled before landing onto him, a slight huff leaving her pale lips as she purses them out towards him in frustration. Her hands were resting on her hips — giving him attitude. Theon felt the slight tug of his lips as they threatened to form into his usual grin.

“The Prince has asked me to accompany him on a walk through the grounds.  _ Alone.” _

She practically spat the word towards him, trying to engrave it into his thick skull. Theon’s arms crossed in front of him, his curls shaking back and forth with a shake of his head. A mix between a scoff and laughter came from between his lips, now tugged into a smirk. 

“Alone? Sounds to me like he wants to lure the young girl off so he can murder her and no one will hear her screams.” 

The gasp of complete horror that left Sansa’s lips caused a chuckle from him. She stomped her foot against the grass, her eyes narrowed at him as her whole face scrunched up in a scowl. Joffrey stood a little to the back, looking bored as he looked at his nails, waiting for Sansa to join him. 

“You are always so annoying, Theon! Get away. Go annoy some girl.” She turns with a huff, slamming her heel into the ground before stalking off towards the Prince, putting a pretty skip in her step once she was close enough to him. She takes his arm as he offers it, walking off without a second look back. 

Theon’s eyes followed them as far as they could see before the two disappeared behind some trees and out of his line of vision. Letting out a huff, Theon brings the last piece of meat he still in his grip and chews on it, scowling as he goes off to do just as Sansa said — annoy some girl. 

***

It didn’t take long for Theon to find a pretty enough common girl lurking around at the inn. She was there with her father, and the two managed to sneak away and find themselves in the room he’d be sharing with Jory. 

Her name was Poppy, and Theon instantly knew he was never going to remember it by the morning. He had slept with so many women, their names and faces just seem to blend together in his mind after a while. 

“I’ve never been with someone highborn before… Only ever bastards and other lowborn men.” Poppy continued to strip herself as Theon did the same, making quick work at getting his breeches untied and down around his ankle while she undoes the laces holding her thin dress up. 

“Not just highborn. A Prince.” 

Moving towards the bed, he throws himself down on top of it with a big grin coming across his face, watching as the girl came towards him and crawled up onto the bed as well. Poppy’s full tits swing as she moves towards them, and her blonde hair was a little matted in the plaits that it was currently in. Her breasts were a little too big for Theon’s liking, and her hair was a little too blonde for his liking. It wasn’t kissed by fire as the wildlings would say, just like Ros’. 

“My father told me I shouldn’t trust you before we left… Said that you’re Ironborn. You just take what you want.” 

_ Drowned God this girl talked a lot. _ Theon had to hold himself back from his eyes rolling. His hands rested behind his head on the feather pillows, a little smirk on his lips that replaced the grin from before. His head nods towards his half hardened length, resting against his stomach. 

“Going to stop talking and suck my cock?” 

He barely had to say another word, as Poppy was happy to comply and do exactly as he asked, laying in between his spread legs as her small and quite rough hand wrapped around his length. Theon wasn’t bothered about the feeling of her hand, the size of her tits nor the colour of her hair, as long as it got him off. 

His head rolled back and his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of her warm mouth wrapping around him, quickly taking his length. His right hand reached out to her hair and was quick to twist his fingers through it, just making it all the more matted and messing up her plaits. 

“That’s it… You can take me deeper than that…” He felt her humming around his cock as she pushed herself to take more, her throat causing her to gag around him before relaxing. His hips started to rut up into her mouth, enjoying the warm around it. The warmth of some girls mouth or cunt was much better than his own hand, which he had to suffer with since they had left Winterfell. 

He let out his loudest moan as she begins to massage his balls while using her mouth at the same time, something he had found a lot of common girls and servants didn’t do, but his favourite whore from Winter Town did do. He gave his biggest thrust into her mouth again, causing another gag. He could feel his balls tightening, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he gets closer and closer to that release that he’s been seeking for weeks.

“Theon! Are you in there, lad?” 

His eyes snapped open, the girl instantly coming off of him with a ‘pop’ sound, her lips swollen as she lifts her head to look up at him and then towards the door where the knocking had turned into banging. Letting out a groan, frustration written all over his face, Theon pushes himself up, quickly reaching for his breeches and tugging them back on. Poppy was across the room, pulling her dress back up from her waist as well, looking flushed and embarrassed to have been caught with him. 

“What the fuck, Jory?” He hissed while flinging the door open, being greeted by a red, worried face back. Theon’s shift was half hanging out of his breeches, laces not even done up while Poppy quickly slides herself past the two of them and practically flew down the stairs. 

“It’s the Stark girls. One of the wolves bit the Prince. No one can find Arya.” 

***

He was hot on the heels of Lord Stark as they move themselves into the main area where the Kings men and the Northern men had gathered themselves. Theon had never seen Eddard so red, so angry before. Not even when he accidentally tripped Old Nan. The two of them as well as Jory pushed their way to the front where the King, Queen and Joffrey sat in front of a shaking Arya. 

Arya was stood in a pair of breeches and a ripped shift, her hair half up half down in the braids she was wearing since the morning, dirt covering her face. Theon’s eyes softened at the sight as she instantly turned to her father, rushing to his arms while he cradled her head. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” 

“Are you hurt?” Of course Ned cared to know if his blood was hurt first. It almost made Theon choke up at the thought of his own father, Balon, who couldn’t care less as long as he saved his own head and kept it on his shoulders.

Turning to face his King, Ned’s eyes narrowed, voice low and almost threatening. “What is the meaning of this? Why wasn’t my daughter brought to me at once?” The sour look that passed over Cersei Lannister’s face said it all, while Joffrey stood there like a smug cunt. 

“How dare you speak to your King in that manor.” 

“Quiet woman.” 

The hall went silent, not a single person moving a muscle as they waited for the King to begin to speak. Theon thought to himself about Robert, how he never seemed to care for Joffrey. He resembled his own father quite a bit, though he would never tell the King that. 

“Sorry Ned… never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get to the bottom of this.” 

King Robert was being  _ fair _ . Ned was his  _ friend _ . He’d spare his daughters, Theon knew it.

“Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off.” 

Cersei Lannister was the next to speak up, and as soon as she said it, Theon had to roll his eyes. There was no way that Arya had attacked Joffrey for absolutely nothing. And Nymeria would only attack if someone was hurting Arya. Theon had to bite his tongue from making a comment. 

_ Nymeria didn’t try hard enough if the golden haired cunt still has his arm.  _

“That’s not true!” Arya shouts out, fidgeting back and forth on her heels. “She just… bit him a little.” 

Theon lets out a snort at how blunt she was about it, instantly ducking his head at the look he gets shot from Ned, warning him to not start.  _ Probably best not to. These Lannisters would take me as their prisoner like they did with nuncle Aeron after he was found washed up. _

“He was hurting Mycah.”

“Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Yes it is.” Joffrey finally spoke up, lifting his eyes away from his wrapped arm. “They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river.” 

“Liar!”   
“Shut up!”

Theon takes a step forward, his hand moving to hold onto Arya’s shoulder while the other was dancing dangerously near his dirk where his sword was kept. His eyes were hard and set on the beloved Prince. 

“Enough! He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Seven hells, what am I to make of this?” The King takes a deep breath. “Where’s your other daughter, Ned?”

“In bed asleep.”

“She’s not…” Cersei gave a little sly smirk, putting on the same fake, manipulative smile that Theon had came to know in the short time knowing her. It made his stomach twist, but his cock stir. “Sansa, come here darling.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to wear the taller, eldest female Stark made her way through with Lannister guards following behind and made it to the front. She had clearly been waiting to be called forward, off hiding somewhere that the Lannisters had kept her aside as she was wearing her nightgown, her hair still in a style, just with her furs wrapped around her now too. 

“Now child. Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It’s a great crime to lie to a King.” 

Eyes were dead set on Sansa, Theon’s eyes burning into the back of her head.  _ Tell the truth, Sansa. Don’t lie for him.  _

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. It all happened so fast. I didn’t see-” She was cut off by Arya hitting the back of her head, the sound echoing and causing a cringe from Theon before he reached out to grab Arya and stop her attacking her sister.

“Liar!” 

“Arya!” It took Ned and Theon to split the two of them up, clawing and grabbing at each other.

“She’s as wild as that animal of hers. I want her punished.” Cersei seethed, eyes glaring towards where the Starks stood. 

“What would you have me do? Whip her through the streets? Damnit, Children fight. It’s over.” 

“Joffrey will bare these scars for the rest of his life.” 

_ Good.  _

The King’s eyes were now narrowed in on Joffrey, judging him from where he sat and Joffrey stood. “You let that little girl disarm you?” 

Theon took a swallow, hearing the sound of his own father and own brothers through those words.  _ You’re not strong enough. You’re not ironborn enough. Mama’s little boy. You baby that boy, Alannys. You’ll never be a true warrior like your brothers. _

If it hadn’t been Joffrey, Theon would have felt sorry for him. 

“Ned, see to it that your daughter is disciplined. I’ll do the same with my son.”

“Gladly, your grace.”

Ned turns, taking Arya by the arm. Even Theon turned, ready to leave the hall along with Jory who was at his side.

“And what of the direwolf? What of the beast that savaged your son?”

“I forgot the damned wolf.” 

“We found no trace of the direwolf, your grace.” one of the soldiers spoke up.

“So be it.” 

“We have another wolf.” 

Theon could hear a pin drop in the hall as Cersei mentioned it. The bile rose in his throat, hands clenched into fists at his side.  _ Not Lady. Not oh so precious Lady who ate treats from his hand. Not Lady with her pretty pink ribbon tied to her collar. Not Sansa’s direwolf.  _

“As you wish.” 

The King stepped up to Ned, noticing the shock in his friends face. His brother’s face. “What-”

“A direwolf is no pet. Get her a dog, she’ll be happier with it.” And he walked off, not willing to take the responsibility himself. 

“He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” Sansa’s voice was soft, quiet. Unlike before when she had been out speaking to the King of what she saw, or recalled to not have seen nor remembered. “No not Lady. Lady didn’t bite anyone, she’s good!” She turned, sneering it straight at the Lannisters. Straight at Cersei and Joffrey. 

“Lady wasn’t there! You leave her alone!” Arya spoke up, defending her sister.

Sansa turned, gripping her father by the arm, eyes filling with tears as she begged. “Please stop them. Please please, it wasn’t Lady!” The Lannister’s just continued to stand, smiling with that fake smile they both shared. Theon even felt himself tearing up a little, eyes flickering between Ned and the Lannisters.  _ Ned would never do this. He’d never break his own daughter’s heart like this.  _

“Is this your command, your grace?” Ned questions, ignoring Sansa and Arya and turning to Robert. Robert just looked at him, before turning away once again. 

“Where is the beast?”

“Chained up. Outside, your grace.”

“Ser Ilyn, do me the honour.”

“No.” Ned spoke, stopping the sour looking man from moving. His eyes land on Jory and Theon from where they stood together. “Jory, Theon… take the girls to their rooms. If it must be done, I’ll do it myself.”

Jory instantly moved himself to go for the girls, Theon doing so as well. He could see both of them tearing up, Sansa’s face completely broken unlike before where she stood quite proudly. Theon’s arm wrapped around her, bringing her into his chest. 

“Is this some trick?” The Queen asked, earning a glare over the top of red locks of hair from Theon. Unlike before where he had thought the Queen to be beautiful, now all he saw was a snake. A slippery snake with no empathy for anyone but herself. Even the ironborn were not that harsh.

“The wolf is of the North. She deserves better than a butcher.” Ned turned, not even taking a moment to look towards his daughters as he left the hall. Sansa’s face was buried into Theon’s chest while Jory had his hand on Arya’s shoulder, the youngest girls eyes still narrowed, lips pursed towards the Lannisters as she blinks away her tears. 

“Jory… Take Sansa.” Theon mutters, slowly passing her off to Jory before he turns, walking in the direction that Ned had disappeared. 

He managed to catch up just as Lord Stark had stopped in shock at the sight of the young boy, draped across the Hound’s horse. Dead.

“Lord Stark!” 

Ned turned, noticing Theon jogging after him while he approached the direwolf. It caused a sigh and a shake of the head. 

“Theon, go back to the girls.” 

“No. Don’t do this. Lady- She’s innocent and you know it. Sansa doesn’t deserve this, Lord Stark…” 

Theon’s eyes cast down at the direwolf who stood chained up by their feet, completely unaware of everything as she was petted by Ned. Theon reached out a shaking hand, allowing the wolf to sniff and lick it one more time, a sob choking up in his chest. 

“King Robert demanded it. His son is scarred for life.”

A bitter scoff came from Theon, a lone tear beginning to roll down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away, even though Lord Stark hadn’t seen him cry since he was young and cried out for his mother. He would show Ned just how badly this would affect everyone. Even someone from the sea where the waves were just as cruel and harsh as the people. 

“You don’t have to do this. What his son has is a scratch! I have a bigger scratch on my arse!” 

“Theon… I do. My King demanded it. I do as my King says.” 

Ned turned his attention to the ribbon on the back of Lady’s collar, slowly untying it. 

“Aye. I know all about you obeying everything that fat cunt says.” 

Ned froze, and Theon was sure he heard Ned’s own sob choking up before he takes a deep breath, slowly holding the ribbon out towards Theon, shiny eyes looking up at him from the ground he kneeled on. 

“Please Theon… give this to Sansa… Tell her I’m sorry…” 

Theon took the ribbon from him, almost snatched it from his grasp. His eyes were red, bloodshot and narrowed at the man he had thought more of a father than Balon. Someone who he believed would not make a stupid mistake for the likes of Robert Baratheon again. 

“Sansa will never forgive you for this,  _ Eddard _ .”

Theon turns on his heels, gripping the soft pink ribbon in his hand, tears leaking down his red cheeks as he hears the soft cooes and shushes of Ned behind him, before the sound of a yelp, and then silence. 


	3. THEON II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon is plagued by nightmares of the fate that was promised to him if his father rebelled again. 
> 
> He and Sansa grow a little more of an understanding towards each other. He had to keep her safe for Robb after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to explore more of Theon's anger and resentment towards Ned/The Starks since it's something in the books but not really there after season 2 in the show, also I'm reading the books now so I'm hoping it will help my writing.
> 
> I read a quote from Theon thinking about how Ned's sword scared him, and thought that would be a good thing to add, since I've not seen a lot of fics mention it. It's quite a sad quote. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Kudos, comments, bookmarks etc are greatly appreciated!

His eyes opened to the darkness of the night sky, several torches lit around the yard of the inn. He stood alone, cold and just in a pair of his breeches like he had went to bed wearing. The air was strangely cold for them to be in the south, his hands rubbing up and down his arms to try and generate some heat. 

That’s when the screams came, sending Theon running in the direction he could hear them coming from. 

Sansa’s screams were loud and piercing in his ears as Theon’s eyes looked around the yard in front of the inn. Lord Stark was there, a blade pressed against the throat of the now dead direwolf. It was Lady. Sansa was kicking and screaming against the grip of Jory, her face red and tears streaming down her cheeks. Lord Stark seemed like he either didn’t even know she was there or he was ignoring her heartbreaking screams.

“L-Lord Stark! Why did you do that in front of her?” Theon’s voice seemed to echo, and he turned to see that Jory and Sansa were no longer there, it was just him and Ned standing in the yard, the light from the lit torches reflecting off of both of their eyes. 

“It had to be done, Theon. As does this.” Ned slowly approached Theon, his hair falling over his eyes. Theon saw something flicker in them, like steel, and his eyes travelled down to see Ned pulling his great sword Ice, from its sleeve. 

“No…” Theon slowly retreated, his feet falling over one another as he turns and clips a rock, sending him tumbling to the ground. He grasps at anything, desperate for an escape, his heart racing against his chest as Ned drags the tip of the sword along the ground while approaching Theon, his large hand moving to hold Theon down onto the ground, his head across a rock. 

“Please, Lord Stark! Don’t do this! I-I’ll do anything!” 

“I’m sorry, Theon. But your family are traitors. You knew this was the possibility one day.” His voice was almost monotone, not a single emotion showing through. Lord Stark had always been a cold man, but he was a fair man. Theon never truly believed he’d take his head for his father’s crimes one day. Theon didn’t scream - his head against the rock as he almost bowed it in defeat, tears rolling down his cheeks as the great sword could be heard swinging down in the wind - before nothing. 

Shooting up in the bed, Theon’s heart was still pounding in his chest, neck still hurting like he had actually been beheaded. But there was no marks, and his head was still on. The sweat was dripping off of him as Jory comes into their shared room, already fully dressed.

“You missed breakfast, Greyjoy. Get dressed. We’re getting ready to leave. If you want to eat first, I suggest you hurry your lazy arse.” He moves over and smacks the linen he was using to dry his hair against Theon’s bare chest with a grin. Theon just let out a grunt and gave a half smile back, his curls falling into his eyes. If he closed his eyes… he could still see the look on Lord Stark’s face as he looked down at him before raising his sword.

“I’m not hungry.” 

**

The continued ride to Kings Landing was long and hard. The sounds of Sansa’s weeping could still be heard from the wheelhouse she was currently in with Septa and Arya. She had refused to share a wheelhouse with the Queen - not that Theon could blame her. 

He was on top of his stallion, walking alongside Lord Stark. Not a word had been spoken between the pair since the night before. The sounds of Sansa’s broken heart was weighing down on Ned, and Theon could tell by the way the man had to close his eyes and take a deep breath every time she started up again. Theon’s jaw clenched every time, the reminder of what Lord Stark had done - what he had failed to prevent from happening, weighing down on him as well. 

“I have made many mistakes in my life, Theon… breaking my daughter’s heart is one of the biggest. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make it up to her…” He turns to look over his shoulder towards the wheelhouse where Joffrey had slowed his horse down to poke his head instead and speak to the girl inside. 

“Can I ask a question, Lord Stark?” Theon finally spoke up, tired eyes finding the older man’s tired eyes. Theon shifts underneath his gaze, feeling the sweat forming on the back of his neck. 

“Of course.” 

Theon took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his saddle underneath him and then on his hands that gripped the reins. “Are you actually going to take my head one day? Like you promised the King you will?” 

There was a deafening silence between them as Ned doesn’t answer for a moment, almost in shock of what the teen was asking him. Theon was only seven and ten, and already feared for his life. He feared his life from the moment the walls of Pyke started to fall down and his mother clutched him into her chest and sobbed and prayed to be spared and her children to be spared. Only one child had really been spared, so the Drowned God did not answer his mother’s prayers. Not truly. 

“No.” He finally answered, his eyes out onto the scene in front of them, the city of Kings Landing seen in the distance. “No I wouldn’t. I made that commitment when I was barely a man, I am not that person anymore. If Balon chooses to rebel again I-I will not punish you for his actions. Not again.” 

Shocked at his words, Theon’s sea eyes come up to look Ned in the face. He felt a weight being lifted off of his shoulders, the steel blade being lifted from his neck where it had rested for almost ten years. The deaths of his two brothers had never affected him as heavily as they affected his mother, truly he didn’t miss his brother’s at all. Both of them were cruel - Maron more than Rodrik. One was a drunk, the other just plain evil. 

“Thank you.” The words slip from Theon’s lips, tugging into a smile at the same time as Ned’s eyes finally meet his again. 

“Do you wish to go home, Theon?” 

His mouth opened and closed for a few moments. He wanted to reply  _ yes, I wish to go home and hold my mother like she used to hold me. I wish to see my sister again and feel the sea and sand between my toes again.  _ But, he would miss Robb. He would miss his best friend, more of a brother than any that came from Balon. He would miss pretending that he didn’t know Arya would steal his bow and practise shooting until he loudly spoke of things she could do to make her better, without anyone knowing he was speaking directly to her. He would miss Rickon running around at his feet and wanting to get into mischief with him and Robb. He’d miss teaching Bran about the Iron Islands and all the different houses. He’d miss Sansa and her whining about dresses and her hair and how she needed a prince or a knight to whisk her away and fall deeply in love, because Yara did whine, but not nearly as well as Sansa did and certainly not about the same things. He’d even miss the bastard, Jon Snow and his constant brooding and comments on how he’d rather be a bastard than a Greyjoy. 

“I would like to see my mother and sister again. But I would miss you all very much.” 

Theon could almost smell the salt off of the sea and the rocks from the place that was home to him. It brought a smile across his lips, eyes closing and his head tilting back as the wind swept through his curls. He imagined he was back on the beach once more, more rocks than there was sand but it was still beautiful and home to him. He could hear his sister’s laughter from down the beach, by the water where she always was watching the ships going off. He could hear the humming of his mother’s singing right in his ear since he was always sat right at her side - but that was before. 

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle and nod his head. “I’m sure Robb would miss you very much as well. I know I would… I wish I could let you go home, Theon.”

His heart drops into his stomach, a lump forming in his throat. The smell of the salt coming from the sea and the rocks vanished and so did his sister’s laughter and his mother’s humming. Lord Stark had took him back down into reality. The man may be able to spare him from taking his head, sparing his life, but he couldn’t spare him the yearning, the want to go home. Because Theon would never go home.

There was a deadly silence between them after that. Ned never dared to speak up, try and change the topic to a lighter one. He knew he had hurt Theon - just one look at the young boy and he could tell he had. Theon always had a strange way about him when he was upset, and it was called being quiet. Theon was never quiet. Theon was always being the loudest, causing the most chaos, and even when he faked a smile throughout the years at Winterfell, he was still louder than he was now. Now, he was truly upset. 

The smell of the south was stronger the closer the party grew towards Kings Landing. Theon even brought his hand up, pinching his nose together with his forefinger and his thumb and screws up his face. Even Ned beside him pulled a face, masking it a lot better than Theon was able to. 

The sounds of sobs came from the wheelhouse behind them once more, and Theon squeezed his eyes shut, the sounds of Sansa’s cries sounding so much like her cries from the dream he had the night before. The sound of Joffrey’s voice followed after, pulling Theon to a stop as he slowly pulls the reins back and slows his stallion down, getting closer to the wheelhouse to hear what was going on. 

“My lady, you need to let her go. It is what your dog would have wanted-” 

“She wasn’t a dog!” Sansa cries out. Theon wasn’t able to see her, but he heard her, his grip tightening around the leather reins into fists. “She was a wolf. She was gentle and kind and she never did anything wrong. She died for nothing…” Her voice shook at the end, a sniffle coming after it. 

“I think… Lady… would want you to let her go. I don’t think holding onto her will help you.” Joffrey was fake. He was faker than his mother and her brother and the whole Lannister family combined. Theon could practically smell the fakeness coming from him in waves from where his white horse walked alongside the wheelhouse Sansa was in. 

Theon nudged his horse forward again, coming to the side of Ned once more. The older man casted him a look of curiosity, but Theon brushed it off and kept his head faced forward as they came across the bridge leading into Kings Landing. His hand came up, brushing against his jerkin, knowing underneath lay the pink ribbon that used to hang on Lady’s collar. He would keep it safe and give it to Sansa when he had the chance. Joffrey was full of shit. She shouldn’t let go of Lady, but constantly think and speak of her so she never forgets her, and so that the Queen never forgets what she did either. 

They entered the gates, the lowborn people coming around in crowds to see the party that was moving through. Sansa had now stopped crying, sticking her head out the small window and wiping her dried tears away, bright smile on her face like there was no tears in the first place. Sansa was impressed by the sight of the city and the Red Keep that sat on top of the hill, and Septa Mordane seemed pleased by it as well. Theon was not, screwing his face up in disgust once more. 

He had never smelled a place so repulsive. He had never smelled a place that made him want to bring his cloak up and cover his nose. Theon had experienced a lot of smells in his days. He spent a lot of time in Winter Town, he had laid with a lot of whores that were not often the cleanest, and he came from the Iron Islands - a place known for smelling of fish and the people smelling of fish too. His sister had once told him that their father and their uncle’s bathed in dead fish to keep the greenlanders from coming too close. 

Even that would not smell as bad as Kings Landing did. 

Eventually they reached the Red Keep and Theon was off his horse. The smell was completely different now that they were away from the streets, allowing him to take a breath of air and spend time directing where he needed his chests to be taken. He was to stay in the Hand’s tower along with Ned, Sansa, Arya and the rest that Lord Stark had brought with him. By the time Theon had reached his room and checked it out, he was pleased. Ned had made sure to get him a room with a few across the sea. 

He unpacks his chests, making sure to neatly put away his best silks and cottons, hanging his cloak up and proudly turning it so the golden kraken that Robb had sewn into it was on full show to anyone who came by his chambers. He moved towards the door, his hand lingering on the knob before he takes a step back towards the mirror, his fingers running through his dirty blonde curls, flashing a grin towards himself before striding out of the door. 

He makes sure to look out for anyone, not wanting to be caught. His footsteps were light and the bricks on the walls were easier to not echo off of than the stones that held together Winterfell. He eventually found himself outside of Sansa’s chambers, bringing his hand up to knock before dropping it again. He lifts it for the third time before knocking - taking a deep breath, giving his shoulders a shrug to relieve tension, and shifting between each foot before she finally opened the door. She looked just as shocked to see him standing there as he did to be standing there in the first place. The two of them looked at one another before he finally gestured for her to open the door. 

“That wouldn’t be proper.” She comments, a small frown on her lips as she narrows her eyes towards him. He almost rolled his eyes, almost. But he let out a huff instead, glancing again behind him to make sure no one was there. 

“Trust me. You want me to come in. I have something for you. But no one else can know you have it.” Her eyes widen a little before she nods, shifting the wooden door open and allowing him to step inside, softly closing it behind him. She almost pounces on him, jumping to sit on the bed beside him. 

“What is it?” She asks, enthusiastic and curious to know. Theon noticed that her Tully blue eyes almost sparkled with excitement as she looked at him. Clearing his throat, he reached inside of her jerkin to his tunic pocket, pulling out the pink ribbon into her sight. A small gasp left her lips, tears instantly welling up at the sight of the soft material she had always tied to her wolf’s collar. Lady had loved that ribbon, almost like she was proud to be wearing it like Sansa wore her ribbons. 

“Theon… How did you get this?” She asked through sniffles, bringing the ribbon up to her face, rubbing it against her cheek before resting it across her lap, her fingers gently touching it. 

“Your Lord father. He asked me to give it to you the other night when we were- well… when he did what he did. I wanted to give it to you sooner but… I had to wait for the time. I heard what Joffrey said to you today.” 

“The Prince.” she scolds him, but her lips were turned up slightly into a smirk on one side. She plays with the ribbon around her finger before she moves it beside her, resting it on the bed. Theon doesn’t get a moment to process before her arms are thrown around him, squeezing tight. Her face was buried into his neck - he could still feel her warm tears rolling down her cheeks, but there was a smile on her lips now. “Thank you, Lord Theon. I will keep it with me, but hidden in plain sight.” She moves back, a soft blush across her cheeks as she now addresses him as a lady should address a man. Theon nods, clearing his throat once more before standing from the softness of her bed, giving her a nod. 

“Lady Sansa.” And he leaves through the door once more, gently shutting it behind him not to be heard.

**

The feast was large, and Theon had filled his plate almost three times and licked it clean every time. The Queen watched him from the highest point of the table, a look of disgust across her face. But Theon just shot a smile her way, gravy still on the corner of his mouth before licking it away with the tip of his tongue. The food had not been the only thing that Theon had been pouring down his throat, but the sweetest wine he had ever tasted as well. He must have had four cups of it, almost keeping up with the King himself, before he began to get too rowdy for Lord Stark’s tastes. 

“Theon. I think it’s time you went to bed. You’ve had enough wine for the evening.” 

Theon disliked his tone, scoffing in his direction as he turns his attention to one of the serving girls, smiling when she filled his goblet once more, a little blush across her cheeks when he whispered sweetly into her ear. Theon was a ladies' man, but not handsy like the King. The King could barely contain himself from where he sat beside his own wife, his eyes always lingering too near the younger girls rear end. Theon brought the goblet up to his lips again, taking a gulp. 

“Theon! I said that’s enough!” Ned raised his voice this time, causing the table to quieten down their chatter, still mumbling between themselves but low enough to hear the commotion from the other end. Theon’s eyes were ablaze, a fire and a storm mixing together in his sea coloured eyes, growing darker like a storm as he came to settle them on Ned, his goblet calmly being placed down on the table again. His smile was almost mocking, his hands clasping together underneath his chin.

“Sorry?” He asked, voice so sickly sweet. 

“You heard me, son. That’s enough of the drinking.” 

_ Son _ . Theon had almost laughed right upon hearing the word tumble out of Ned’s mouth. His own lips curled behind his teeth, almost hissing through his clenched jaw and clenched teeth he was grinding together in anger. Theon didn’t feel anger towards Ned, but certainly did towards the way he tried to act father towards him. 

“I am not one of your  _ sons _ , Lord Stark. Need to remember that as much as you and your family remind me of that.” His hands slam down against the table, sending the goblet in front of him crashing and the wine that was inside spilling across the wood and the fabrics that covered it. Everyone else had grown silent, even little Arya’s head was ducked down, avoiding eye contact with him. The only person to stare him in the eyes was Sansa - her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted like she was about to say something to him. 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll see myself off to bed.” Theon’s voice was back mocking, laughter leaving his lips as a smile spread across them, showing off his teeth. His tongue was slightly red from all the wine he had been tasting. He stumbled off out of the hall and down the halls of the Red Keep, falling nearly and bracing himself against the brick walls until he reached the Hand’s Tower. He knew he’d be mortified by his behaviour come the following day, but he felt a certain weight come off of his shoulders from a small mocking statement towards Lord Stark. If Lord Stark was his father, if he was Balon Greyjoy, he’d certainly get a smack for raising his voice and mocking him in front of guests. Or mocking him at all. 

He heard feet behind him as he leaned against one of the walls. He believed he was close to his chambers, but he was too drunk to tell really. As his blurred vision comes to him once his eyes opened, he saw a flash of red in front of him before the sour face of Sansa came clear into his view. He groaned, shaking his head at her. “Save your lectures on manners for the morrow, I’m sure your father will have some to say to me as well.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest in front of her, sighing as she shook her head “No I don’t believe he will. He is much too embarrassed by hearing the truth.” She shocked him by that, and when she dropped her arms and held her arm out to him, sighing once more with a roll of her eyes before wrapping it around his waist, holding him up with the little help she could give. 

There was a silence between them as she helped him - more like dragged his drunken arse all the way back to his chambers, opening the door and giving him a little shove inside. He stumbled a little, catching himself on the door frame as he turned to look at her. He blows out air, flicking one of his curls up and out of his eyes. 

“Thank you for getting me back to my room, Lady Sansa.” 

She sent a nod and a snort back his way, shifting to her other foot. “Well it was the least I could do. I was afraid you’d fall asleep in the halls or end up outside in the bushes from falling after leaning too far out of the window.” 

He couldn’t disagree, smiling and chuckling along. He turns himself again as she does, the sounds of her feet moving away from his door causing him to catch the wood with his hand again, peeking out of it.

“Sansa?” 

She turns, frowning her eyebrows. “Yes, Lord Theon?” 

A smile comes across Theon’s lips as he nods towards her hair, humming. “Your hair looks lovely tonight.” 

Her hand came up, fingers brushing against the pink ribbon that was holding her plait together. Her cheeks turned red, like they did before after she embraced him, and she gave him a nod, and a curtsy. 

“Goodnight, Lord Theon.”

“Goodnight, Lady Sansa.” 


	4. THEON III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon's mad he doesn't get to compete in the Hands Tournament.
> 
> Sansa gets given a rose, and Theon makes a prayer he will never make again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never meant for this chapter to be so long, apologises. Or not, if you like long chapters. I was a bit hiatus so I decided a longer chapter was needed to make up for that. ( I used to be theonsmedici, changed my user btw ) 
> 
> I hope you all had a fabulous Christmas and hope you have a good New Years!

Knives scraped against the plates and spoons hit against the bowls as the Starks and Theon sat in silence at their small table for breakfast. There had been chatter between them - until a hungover Theon had entered the room and broken the mood, Lord Stark’s jaw clenched as he dropped his head and didn’t lift it again from the food on his plate. Theon sat in between Sansa and Arya, Ned sat across the table from him. Both of the girls had their heads ducked down as well. Theon couldn’t tell if Ned was avoiding eye contact with him because he was angry from the lack of manners Theon had the night before, embarrassing him in front of the King and Queen, or if it was because Theon told the truth, and Ned didn’t like it nor could he deny it.

“Breakfast, m’lord?” One of the kitchen maids came over, clutching a towel in her hand as she leans over enough to pour water into his fancy goblet. Theon knew what she was up to - enough of the kitchen maids back in Winterfell had done the same thing with he and Robb before. An act for attention - wanting the lords to look down their blouses and have a peak at the full breasts that lay underneath. Her breasts were a little too big for Theon’s taste, like pillows that he could bury his face in while burying himself between her legs as well, but he still hummed in appreciation for them all the same, flashing a charming grin the ladies way. 

“Some bacon will be fine, thank you.” He patted his hand against her behind, and if anyone at the table noticed as she blushed and scurried off to get his bacon from the kitchen, they never commented, until Sansa did with a disgusted scoff. 

“Do you have to be such a pig at the table? There are ladies here, Theon. You’re not just in the company of Robb anymore.” Cue the roll of her eyes, her spoon twirling around in the bowl of porridge she had in front of her, along with her eggs and bacon. From the purse of her lips, the turn up of her nose as she scrunches it in disgust because of his romantic ways with the kitchen maid, Theon could tell she was not so impressed by the behaviours he had, that or she was jealous it wasn’t her behind he was touching.

Leaning forward, hand resting underneath his chin, a toothy grin pulled across his face as his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Are you jealous, Lady Sansa?” 

Another roll of the eyes, another scoff of disgust. She waves her hand at him almost dismissing his question. The tips of her ears were red and hot, showing through her red hair as she manages to stop her cheeks from going the same way. “Jealous of what? Not being one of your… your… friends?” 

_ Sweet innocent Sansa Stark… They are much more than just my friends.  _ Theon chuckles and shakes his head, chewing on a piece of greasy bacon he was now gripping in his hand. “It’s okay, princess. Maybe one day your day will come where a man will want you in his bed… might want to get that stick out of your arse fir-” 

“That’s enough!” Ned’s voice bounced off the stoned walls like an echo, the kitchen maids that were back in the kitchen even stopping what they were doing, a silence now resumed in the small chambers they were sat in. Theon ducked his head from being told off, like a wounded puppy. “I am not listening to you two bickering this whole time we are here in King's Landing. You two barely spoke to one another back in Winterfell, I will not have this behaviour here. We will not be discussing Theon’s… hobbies here at the table where we eat. Is that understood?” 

No one spoke. Nor he or Sansa knew who should speak first, who should apologise first. “Is that understood?” Ned repeated, a little louder this time. He even had the Septa awkwardly twirling her fork into the eggs that were on her plate. 

“Yes Lord Stark.”

“Yes Father.” Both of them synced at the same time, eyes flickering to the side to look at one another. Both scowled, narrowing their eyes at the other in tight glares before returning to their breakfast.

**

There were banners from all different houses, from all different parts of the seven kingdoms, and Theon was fascinated by them all as he strolled his way in the direction he was told Lord Stark had headed only ten minutes before. There were yellows and greens and reds and blacks, all different sigils and all different types of armour that the knights were wearing, strapping themselves up for the tourney to begin. 

He was stared at like he was a fish on dry land, in between the other land animals, and he supposed to these people - to these knights from all over the seven kingdoms, or just the greenland. Only the greenland had that kind of thing - knights instead of  _ warriors.  _ Now that’s what the Iron Islands had. 

He was out of place here in King's Landing, he was out of place back in Winterfell too. Theon yearned to go home more and more as the days past. 

Approaching the golden tent, he could hear the muffled voices of Ned and the King through the thin fabric, hearing another voice in there with them - a younger voice of a male. Theon clears his throat next to the slit for a door, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Lord Stark? Do you have a minute?” 

There was a silence, a few mutterings before the flap was pushed aside and Ned’s face appeared, head signalling for Theon to enter the tent. His feet moved before his mind registered to what was happening - giving a head bow towards the King that stood with his tunic opened and untied at the other side of the tent, one of his squires attempting to fit armour around his big stomach. 

Clearly it was not happening, and Theon had to hold in the laugh that wanted to come out. 

“”You’ve grown. I remember when you were just a small boy, barely even seven. Do you remember, Ned? When he was that small? And he’s handsome too, unlike your father anyway, must have gotten those looks from your mother, lad.” The Kings laughed deep from his belly, shoulders shaking as he grinned between the now awkward pair across from him. Ned just gave a laugh, nodding his head a little.  _ Of course you remember me when I was young, King Robert. You were one of the ones who took me.  _

“What is it, Theon? That you wanted me for?” Ned changes the subject, feeling the tension in the air, noticing the slight narrowing of Theon’s eyes were locked on the King, too busy shouting demands at a stuttering Lancel Lannister. 

“I want to be in the tournament, if you’ll let me.” 

There was a confidence in his voice, straightening his posture and holding his head high with a smile. Theon would be in the tourney, he would win, and he would make the people see that the ironborn aren’t all monstrous people. That some of them were good just in between the bad, he would make his mother and his father feel proud to have him as a son. 

“No.” 

He almost didn’t hear Ned say it, eyes widening and blinking as his shoulders slouched, the pride within him gone just from a simple two letter word. His dreams - his hopes to bring pride to himself and to his home had been shattered by none other than Ned himself, and as Theon opened his mouth, closing it again, he almost looked like a fish on dry land. Perhaps he had been that fish for going on ten years. 

“Don’t argue, Theon. Please just… accept it. I’m doing it for your safety.” 

There was that word. Safety. As if Theon was ever truly that safe around the man who had promised to one day take his head if his father decided to go against the crown once more. That promise was glaring, clouding his mind and haunting his nightmares and now, Ned was coming at him with this “safety” talk? It caused Theon to want to scream, shout in Ned’s face. He didn’t care if the King was standing right there, he would shout at him as well. He was another cause of the mess Theon had been in for years, the reason Theon was never allowed to return home. 

But instead he just nodded, dropping his head in defeat and left the tent, hearing the King shouting at Lancel once more about getting his armour to fit around his big belly. 

**

There was a buzz in the air. The tournament was beginning shortly and as Theon made his way towards the stands, Ned managing to get them seats close to the King and Queen, he could hear the squeals and smell the excitement that was coming from the other ladies and lords that were also coming to watch the knights all battle it out. 

Theon sat with a scowl on his face, arms crossed over his chest. He never muttered a word from the moment he went with Ned to collect Sansa and her little friend, Jeyne Poole. To be fair, he was still upset by the scene that happened in the King’s tent. What an embarrassment that had been. Ned had treated him like a child - a child! Theon was practically a man grown now. Seven and ten. He was a man. He was at the right age for marriage - not that he wanted to be married anytime soon and nor did he think Lord Stark was about to offer him up to anyone, wouldn’t be his place. That was his father and mother’s places, and his mother would never give him away to just any woman. She’d let him choose his wife.

Sansa had her arm looped around her father’s, holding him close as she took all the colours around her and the buzz of the capital, and it made Theon sick how excited she was about it all. How could she be so happy to be away from her home? To be around the likes of Cersei Lannister and be betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon?  _ She was young and naive. _

The cheers from the nobles around him were loud, causing a ringing in his ears and his face to screw up. Why are people so excited for a bunch of fairy cunts smacking some sticks off of one another till one of them falls off and the other wins? It’s not like anyone was actually going to die. Perhaps that’s why Theon was already bored and making mental bets in his head for who was going to win each of the rounds. If he had money, he’d put some on the dog, Joffrey’s dog. They had only spoken once or twice, but he liked the ugly burnt man.

One noble had sat down behind them, leaning in close between Sansa and Ned. Theon’s eyes narrowed in on the man, taking notice in the way that Lord Stark’s whole body tensed up at his presence. Clearly the man was not wanted anywhere near them. 

“Lady Sansa… how lovely to see you once again.” He held his slimy hand out towards her, and being the lady she was, Sansa put her hand into his, allowing him to press a kiss to the back of it. Theon nearly vomited at the sight, and Ned looked like he was about to do the same.    


“Lovely to see you again as well, Lord Baelish. This is my father, but I’m sure you know him. Oh- and this is my friend, Jeyne Poole.” She gestured towards the blushing Jeyne, trying to duck her head down and keep herself away from the attention of the man. Jeyne was no lady, she was below them in status, but she was in the stands beside the nobles and so she was treated as such. Baelish pressed a kiss to her hand as well, causing a giggle from the young girl. And then his eyes turned to Theon, a smirk coming onto his lip just below that horrible moustache the man was working. “Lord Greyjoy…” 

The way his family named rolled off of his tongue sent a shiver down Theon’s spine, an uneasy and fake smile spreading across his lips, clenching his teeth tightly together behind them. He wanted nothing more than the man to take an interest in others, there were hundreds of nobles here for the tournament and yet, he had chosen him. “Lord Baelish.” 

They shared a nod before Theon turned back to focus on the first set of knights that were riding out - no one important and no one worth him remembering their names. One was from the Vale and the other was from somewhere in the Reach. They both bowed to the King and the Queen, cheers coming from the crowd as they both took their places on either ends, getting their shields at the ready, pulling down the front of their helmets. As they ran at each other, horses hooves hammering off the muddy ground, approaching each other faster and faster, everyone’s excitement raised but Theon’s. He would rather be anywhere else than where he was - he could have been in his room glaring at the wall and hating the world, or at a brothel, happily rolling around in bed with some nice Southern woman, or wherever the woman would come from, perhaps Dorne, or Essos, perhaps even the North. His mind was so lost thinking of women and being on top of them, underneath them, behind them, he hadn’t even noticed one of the men falling from his horse because of impact, crashing to the ground. A loud cheer came from the audience, Sansa and Jeyne Poole squealing in delight and applauding the winner. 

Theon rolled his eyes, a scoff coming from between his lips. “This is painful. Who the fuck cares which one of these flowery cunts fall from the horse and which doesn’t?” He threw his head back dramatically and looked up towards the sky, wishing the ground would swallow him up and get him out of there. His eyes snapped to the side when he heard the familiar scoff of Sansa, her eyes not even on him but out on the tournament, clapping for the next pair that came out. 

“You’re just upset because my father never allowed you to compete. These men might be “flowery” as you say.”  _ Flowery cunts.  _ “But we all know they could easily put you off a horse, and then you’d be scowling about that as well.” 

There was steam coming from Theon’s ears as he glared daggers into the side of Sansa’s head. When did she suddenly be full of so much sass? When did she suddenly become such a smartass that she had  _ him _ speechless? Theon scowled, turning to look out at the tournament and hoped to see some blood being shed and some life’s being lost soon. He had been told that a death happened at the beginning of the tournaments the other day, while he was off with Lord Stark and Sansa and Arya had came with their Septa. He heard that Ser Gregor Clegane was the one who did the killing. 

“Where is Arya?” Ned finally questioned, glancing around for the little one. Sansa gave a shrug in return, pursing her lips a little in disinterest. 

“At her dancing lesson.” 

Ned seemed to know what she was speaking of, nodding once before turning back to look at the next knight coming out, and Sansa’s whole face seemed to light up at the sight of the golden haired man striding over on top of his white horse. “The knight of the flowers..” She muttered in awe, a smile spread across her lips. 

_ Speaking about flowery cunts.  _ Theon watched the young knight approaching, holding his arm out with a red rose held in his hand. He offered it out to Sansa, which she kindly accepted from him with the brightest smile across her face that Theon had ever seen. “Thank you, Ser Loras.” The blush had risen in her cheeks, bringing the rose up to her nose and giving it a smell. Theon glared between the rose and this flowery knight, jaw clenched tightly. 

His opponent, Ser Gregor, moved up beside Ser Loras and both bowed to the King, turning their horses and going off to their spots. Theon watched, seeing how Ser Gregor’s horse seemed to be very irritated - there was no control there, unlike the smug Ser Loras who watched Gregor Clegane struggling with his stallion before turning his own horse, elegantly cantering off to the other side of the track. 

“Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him. I can’t watch.” Sansa pleaded while gripping onto her father’s arm. Ned quickly shushed her, calming her nerves while Theon scowled and screwed his face up in disgust.  _ Please do let Ser Gregor hurt him _ , he thought as he watched the flower knight put his shiny helmet onto his head, perfectly matching the armour coating his body. 

“A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain.” Lord Baelish called, and when Theon turned, he noticed that the slimy man had his attention completely on the King's brother, who was sitting further up in the stands.

“I’ll take that bet.” Renly replied. The two men seemed to be having a battle of who could have the biggest smirk across their lips, and Theon watched with interest, listening into their conversation. It wasn’t so much listening in when they were calling it across other people - they were practically inviting him to listen. 

“Now what would I buy with a hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine, or a girl from the pleasure house of Lys?” Baelish gestured out towards the nobles sat in beside him, gaining some of the men’s attention. He certainly had Theon’s, who’s eyes widened a little and made a mental note of it. 

“You could even buy a friend.” Renly replied, causing Theon to muffle his laughter into his hand. Baelish did not seem impressed, his smile stretching wider across his lips, almost mockingly. 

“He’s going to die.” Sansa commented again, holding her father’s arm as she looked out at the knight of the flowers readying himself up to begin. Theon wondered why she seemed to care for the knight she had spoken three words to and gotten a head nod from. Theon turns to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that the whole point? One of them has to die for the other to win? That’s how real tournaments go. My cousin is a knight, he’d be able to tell you.” There was smugness in his tone, pride in the way he lifted his chin up. Sansa looked at him, and now the steam was coming out of her ears. 

“And where is you cousin, Theon? If he’s a knight, why isn’t he here proving himself in front of the King?” 

Folding his arms across his chest, he hums and gives a simple shrug of his shoulders. “Because he doesn’t like Greenlanders. Why would he prove himself to the King that slaughtered his people? My cousin’s best friend died in that war.” 

“Rebellion.” She reminded him. “Maybe us  _ Greenlanders  _ don’t like you ironborn. I do hear that the ironborn smell like fish.” And that was the end of that conversation, Theon’s eyes widening and mouth opening and closing in shock. His pride was wounded once again, and he brought his nose down and smelled his clothing.  _ Did he smell like fish? _

“Ser Loras rides well.” Ned comforted her once more, patting her arm. The horn was blown, starting the next tourney as both of the knights nudged their horses into running, galloping towards each other with their jousting lances out to hit the other once impact was made. The crowd watched with excitement, the horses growing closer as both of them aim their lances, and Ser Loras’ breaks through Ser Gregor’s wooden shield, shattering it, causing the horse to buckle from underneath the larger knight and both of them to crash into the wooden fence separating the two lanes. 

The crowd stood in shock, gasps coming from some and cheers from others. Renly, the King’s brother, was happy to have won the bet with Baelish and stood up, laughing in glee. “Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would have been nice for you to have a friend.” He called over the heads of others. 

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?” Baelish gestured towards the knight of the flowers, causing Renly to silence and Theon’s curiosity to grow. Could it be? Was there a hidden meaning underneath all of that? Was Lord Renly truly  _ having _ Ser Loras?

There was applauding from the crowd cheers as Ser Loras stood off to the side, and Lord Baelish took his seat once again, leaning in between Ned and Sansa, muttering some sort of riddle into their ears. Ned looked at him, almost daring him to speak up once more to Sansa, to place his hand on her shoulder again, whereas Sansa just shook her head. “Ser Loras wouldn’t do that. There’s no honour in that.” to which Baelish replied. “No honour, but quite a lot of gold.” 

No one paid attention to the Mountain who had taken his helmet off, shouting out in anger from losing. Everyone’s attention was on the knight of the flowers, bowing in front of the King and Queen. Sansa applauded him, that smile back on her face, and though Theon clapped along, there was a scowl back on his face.  _ Drowned God, let the Mountain kill this smug knight of the flowers. _

The crowd turned in horror, gasping out as the Mountain took his sword and swung it down on his stallion’s head, blood gushing as the horse dropped to the floor. Theon too watched in horror, his eyes wide as the Mountain then went for Ser Loras, swinging his blood coated sword right at him, knocking the golden haired knight to the ground. Loras’ horse ran off, spooked by the scene as Loras lay on the ground, using his pathetic wooden shield to try and fight off the blows the Mountain was giving to him. “Leave him be!” Theon heard shouted from behind him, Sandor Clegane moving between the people and out to the track, his sword at the ready as he swung it towards his own brother, the two of them battling it out. Even the Prince was up on his feet, watching his loyal dog fighting away to save the young knight from a horrid death. The hound was skilled, dodging swings from his brother and managing to meet his sword each time and stop himself from ending up in a similar fate as the Mountain’s horse. 

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” Shouted King Robert, staring at the two as the hound dropped to his knees, placing his sword into the ground. The Mountain threw his bloodied sword to the ground with a huff, before storming off in the other direction. The guards moved out of his way with a shout from the King. “Let him go!” and no one muttered a word as they watched the Mountain disappearing off without a punishment for the behaviour he just gave. 

The Hound came up from kneeling as Ser Loras approached him. “I owe you my life, Ser.”

“I’m no Ser.” The hound spat back at him, but he allowed the knight of the flowers to take his hand and raised his arm into the air, declaring him the winner of the tournament. Sansa stood with the crowd, applauding the dog while holding her rose in her arm. Others applauded around him, but Theon still sat in shock from the whole thing. He had prayed to the Drowned God for the Mountain to kill the knight of the flowers… and he had answered. The Mountain had almost sliced right through Ser Loras like he did to his horses neck. Had he done that? Had he made a prayer and had it come nearly true? 

An innocent man had nearly lost his life because Theon had made a silly prayer to his watery God. Theon would not make a prayer like that again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter & tumblr @hcrlaws. 
> 
> kudos, bookmarks and comments are greatly appreciated.


	5. THEON IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon wants Jaime Lannister to pay for his attack against Ned Stark and gains quite a knowledge on the King just from witnessing a smack on his wife from his hand.
> 
> A friend is lost, a kiss happens between the Good and the Bad, and an un-named figure arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long, not very action packed chapter so apologises for that, but i wanted another chapter out before i returned to college and was swimming with work again.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Theon runs the warm cloth up to the wound on Ned’s leg, hearing the hissing coming from between the older man’s teeth as he lay back on his bed, allowing Theon to care for him. He hated putting Ned through even more pain than he was already in - rubbing alcohol into the wound and redressing his bandages to stop infection from making its way in, but Theon felt it was almost a sort of duty to him, after he had slept in that morning and not went with Ned wherever he went into the streets. For that, Theon had not been in the attack - probably sparing his life, but Ned also had no one there truly protecting him either. 

“The Lannisters should be punished for this, Lord Stark. They committed an act against you! You’re the Hand of the King!” The anger was clear in his voice as he moves to dip the cloth into the water once more, pressing it back onto the wound for a last cleaning before wrapping. Ned gave him a look, alarmed as he glanced around the room. 

“Keep your voice down, Theon… there are people here in King's Landing… spies I’m sure. They listen into conversations and go running to tell whatever Lannister they find first.” A fear was in Ned’s eyes and it sent a chill down Theon’s spine. “We don’t know that the Queen made the demand that the guards came to attack me… we can’t just point the finger at her.” 

“But we can, Lord Stark.” Theon moves up to his head with a different cloth, placing it on his forehead to try and cool down his rising temperature. “We both knew that woman is behind all of this, everything that goes wrong, she has her fingers dipped in it somehow. It started with Lady. We should have taken that as a warning that she will not rest till House Stark is destroyed.” His voice was now in a hushed whisper after taking Ned’s threat serious. “The Lannisters are evil people, m’lord. My family has known it since they captured my uncle Aeron during the rebellion, held him captive and then attempted to drown him.” 

Theon gave a shake of his head and a sigh at the thought of his youngest living uncle. Aeron had always been his favourite - not that he had much to choose from. Aeron had been the sane one, the one ready for a laugh, the one to sneak him a drink of his ale when his mother wasn’t looking. He hardly remembered his uncle Urrigon, who had died after his fingers were cut off and the maester attempted to stitch them all back on. Theon had just been a baby, but he had remembered his brother’s stories of how his father had cut the maester’s fingers off in return, stitching them back on and watching the old man die in the same way his younger brother had. 

Theon had thought his father was sinister in the story, but also remembered mourning the brave man his father came out to be in the story. It angered Theon to know that his father had once been like that, cutting the fingers off of maesters and making them slowly die in the same way his youngest brother had. How was that the same man as the one who allowed both of his boys to be slaughtered and then handed the other over on a silver platter to be eaten by the wolves?

His uncle was also not the same brave and rebellious teenager he had been when Theon had known him. But he supposed anyone would change after being held captive and then almost drowning, only to be saved by the Drowned God himself, or so Aeron claimed from what his father’s short and unloving letters claimed. Theon just thought it to be luck that Aeron hadn’t drowned. 

Theon redressed Ned’s leg, making sure to tightly wrap the wound just as the King and the Queen entered into Ned’s room for a visit, but Theon could tell by the look on Cersei’s face that she already knew what had happened, who had done it and why they had done it. The smirk on her lips was the same sly smirk she had that night of Lady’s death. It didn’t matter how beautiful the woman was, Theon did not like her. One look from those green eyes had shivers down his spine, making him want to curl into a ball in the corner. It felt like she was piercing daggers through your body - Theon was sure that she would like to do that to him and Lord Stark.

They both stood over Ned’s bed as Theon watched from the side, after already refusing to leave the room to the Queen, the King being the one to allow him to stay on the belief he wouldn’t tell anyone anything that was said. Lies. He would be telling Jory everything that was said. Ned’s head slowly raised from the pillow, the sweat pouring from him once more as he seemed to blink at the two figures above him, trying to make out who it was. 

“Pardon, your grace… I would rise but..” He gestured down towards his leg, and Robert seemed to have an understanding. Cersei spoke up, about another matter entirely. One that Theon had not known about.

“Do you know what your wife has done?” She cried out, hands clasped in front of herself and body oddly very straight, well put together always. 

“She did nothing I did not command.” Theon glanced between the three, looking confused. He caught the eye on Cersei, quickly shuffling himself around the chambers to look busy, rinsing out the clothes that he used to clean Ned’s wound while listening. 

“Who’d have thought she had it in her?” The King asked, almost sarcastically. He knew Lady Catelyn. He knew exactly what she had, what fire and domence she had in her. “What right do you have to lay hands on my blood?”

_ And what right does your brother have to lay hands on Lord Stark?  _ He wanted to call out, snap back at her, protect his lord, but instead he stayed quietly over by the small basin, squeezing each of the rags to get the water, dirt and blood out. The mixture swirls around in the water, turning it a horrible brown colour.

“I am the King's Hand.” “You were the King’s Hand.” “I want peace-” “You will now be held accountable-” 

The arguing, the bickering between them both continued as Theon stood awkwardly in the corner, the King trapped in between the bickering pair where he seemed to lose his patience more and more with every breath taken. 

“Oh will both of you shut your mouths!” He shouted out, louder than the other two and causing the two to stop instantly from his command. Theon hoped when he was King of the Iron Islands one day, he’d have the same kind of authority over others. “Catelyn will release Tyrion and you will make your peace with Jaime.” Another demand, a shocking one to Theon who had no idea until it was spoken what Lady Catelyn had done. She had captured the imp? Whatever for? Lady Catelyn never done anything without reason to do it, certainly not something so chaotic like capturing the Queen’s imp brother.

“He butchered my men.” Ned barked in return, though it was not so much of a bark that a wolf would make, that he had made at Theon and Robb before for misbehaving. It was defeated, pleading for Robert to understand. There was a smart look on Cersei’s face, her lips curled up in a certain way that Theon did not like as he brought the new damp cloth over and pressed it against Ned’s sweating forehead, feeling his temperature had risen even more than it had only twenty minutes before. 

“Lord Stark was returning drunk from a brothel when his men attacked Jaime.” It was a lie. Lord Stark was not one for much drinking, one or two cups and he was done for the night - Theon knew this for living with him for years. And Lord Stark at a brothel? He had defied Lady Catelyn once during Robert’s Rebellion when he came home with a bastard babe, but never again. Not Lord Stark, he was too honourable to be whoring around with whores in brothels. 

“Quiet woman.” The King snarled, giving a roll of his eyes. 

“Jaime has fled the city. Give me leave to bring him back to justice.” There was another plead in Lord Stark’s voice, and as Theon dabbed at his forehead, Theon prayed that the King would allow it. Theon would go himself if he had to bring the Kingslayer back and give justice to the men he had killed and for wounding Lord Stark.

There was a silence, and Theon was sure that the King was actually considering to do it until Cersei opened her mouth once more. “I took you for a King.” Almost like she was saying  _ Do as I say or you will pay for it.  _

“Mind your tongue.” There was daring in his voice, anger growing.

“He attacked my brother and abducted the other. I should wear the armour, and you the gown.” She mocked right at Robert, pride in her chest as she pushed her shoulders back. Theon had to give it to her - she had courage and strength, and perhaps she had a point. She seemed to be stronger than King Robert had ever been. There was a turn up in Theon’s lip before it was smacked right off at the sound and sight of Robert turning and striking Cersei, and Theon even felt the room vibrate and his own cheek sting like the King had struck him and not the Queen.

Theon had not seen violence against women a lot. Lord Stark never laid a hand on Lady Catelyn - he had never known what love truly looked like between man and woman until he had seen the two of them in their bedchambers while passing one night, bodies moving together. He had been ten then, he remembered telling Robb to gross him out at the thought of his parents doing such a thing. Theon thought it was lovely - he never saw his own parents like that. There was no love between Lord Balon and his lady wife Alannys. The closest to love Theon had seen between the pair had been when his mother hurdled a goblet right at his father’s head, narrowly missing and smashing against the wall. It had earned her a smack, but she took it with pride knowing she had given her husband a scare to never lay hand on her child again. Theon was sure that Balon never rose a hand against Yara after that.

Cersei and Robert acted similar - there was no love. That was clear from the way they spoke to one another, and the smack that came moments ago. It couldn’t have been the first time something like that had happened. Cersei looked used to it. Used to Robert’s “fury” as the kingdoms called it. Ned himself looked surprised by the smack, shocked to see his friend he held so dear to him striking his own wife. Robert had been betrothed to Ned’s sister, before she had died after being kidnapped and raped by the Targaryen prince. Perhaps Lord Stark was thinking of her, and if Robert would strike her had she lived. 

“I shall wear it like a badge of honour.” Cersei spat at her husband, the red mark already beginning to appear on her smooth cheek. “Wear it in silence, or I’ll honour you again.” Theon trembled at the sound of it, and found himself almost wanting to defend the Queen for the way she was being treated. Had she not been such a horrible woman, perhaps he would have stood up for her. Had the King not be so eager to perhaps take his head, he would have stood up for her. 

She took one last look at Ned, then at Theon, and left the room. 

**

Later that day, Theon was still shaken by the scene that had happened before his eyes, and Ned could tell he was, resting a hand against the boy’s, steadying it, gesturing for him to sit on the edge of the bed where he lay. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He apologised, almost as if it was his fault that the King had stuck his own wife. Theon noticed that Ned seemed to take the blame for a lot of things that the King did, like accepting to kill Lady, though he really could have refused and the King would have listened to his oldest friend, to now where he apologised for the behaviour the King had in front of him, even apologising for accepting the promise to take Theon’s head, which the King had put in place himself that it even shook Lord Balon.

“Stop apologising for the King’s behaviour, Lord Stark. It isn’t your fault.” There was a slight shrug of his shoulders, moving around the bed to fix the furs and help Ned get more comfortable. He would be on bed rest for the next few days, before he’d use a cane to get himself around on his broken and wounded leg. “The King shouldn’t have hit her like that.” 

Ned sighed. “No, he shouldn’t have. But he knows that.” Ned had confidence in the King that Theon did not share. Some may see that peace is in the seven kingdoms with King Robert in the iron throne, but the man had no true power other than violence. He didn’t care for anyone who isn’t himself and perhaps Ned. If he cared for Sansa, he wouldn’t betroth her to his son - who he knows to be sadistic and cruel. Robert had heard the stories of the cats that Joffrey had tortured, of the whore he had strangled when he went out with Tyrion to a brothel one day for his name day. And yet, Sansa - sweet, pure, Sansa Stark, was being married to him. 

“If he knew it, he wouldn’t be doing it. You can’t tell me that was the first time he had ever struck her like that, it was just the first time he had done it in company.” 

There was a silence after that, because Ned knew that Theon was right. He could not defend his friend, someone almost like another brother to him for doing such a thing. Robert was only defensive and saying he shouldn’t have done it, because other’s had seen it. Theon shuffled around the room, cleaning and pouring a cup of water for Ned when he heard coughing coming from him. He tilted the cup to his mouth, allowing Ned to drink without having to struggle to sit himself up even more. 

“I’m glad that you slept in yesterday, Theon… I would hate to see you killed like my other men were.” Ned coughed as he said so, settling back down underneath the furs with Theon’s help. Theon offered a smile in return, giving a cheeky wink towards him. “The only time you’ll appreciate me not being a morning person, Lord Stark.” He tucks the furs around his body while he speaks, puffing up the pillow that was supporting his leg more before he stops, turning to him. 

“Who… was with you, Lord Stark? When you were attacked?” He felt a lump forming in his throat. He dreaded hearing the answer - the answer he knew was coming. Jory would never allow Lord Stark to wander into the streets on his own, not even with other trusted men with him. No, it had to always be Jory. Jory bloody Cassel. Too good a man to be here in King's Landing.

“The usual.” Was Ned’s response. He didn’t want to say the name either.

“Jory?” His voice cracked a little, and a flicker of pain came through Ned’s eyes. 

“I’m having his body sent back to Winterfell. He will have a proper burial.” Theon stood from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting, pacing back and forth while running his hands over his face. His blood boiled underneath the skin. He wanted to scream out in anger, in pain, in sadness that he felt for his lost friend. Jory was too young to die. Jory wanted to live his whole life being a trusted man to Lord Stark, Robb after him. He wanted a wife, he said he wasn’t even fussy about what she was like as long as they were in love - true love. He wanted three kids. Two boys and a girl. He remembered him telling he, Robb and Jon all of this while they were training in the yard. 

“Who did it.” It wasn’t a question, a demand. His eyes had grown darker - a storm starting at sea. The waves crashing harshly against the rocks, coming up as high as the windows. He wanted a name, a face to put against the man who had killed Jory. 

“The Kingslayer.” 

**

The fury grew in him as he walked the halls of the Red Keep, trying to keep himself from crying. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He almost threw one of the vases he passed in anger, before remembering it was not one of his to break and set it back down in its place. 

_ The Kingslayer.  _ Not only had he attacked Lord Stark without reason, probably on the demands of Cersei or some other Lannister, he had killed Stark’s men. He had killed Jory. 

Theon walked the halls, scowling and trying to suck back the tears, sniffling as he rubs his nose against the back of his hand. He turned the corner, freezing to see Sansa and Joffrey linked arm in arm together, walking alongside the outside gardens. He hid himself back around the corner, not wanting to be caught. 

He couldn’t hear what was being said between the two because of the distance, but with wide eyes and a dropped open mouth, he watched as Sansa smiled and laughed at whatever the sadistic Prince was saying, turning her back to him and allowing him to put a necklace around her neck. Theon felt his heart dropping, watching how cheerful she seemed to be, how the piece of gold around her neck went well with her eyes and with her hair. He could see the Septa standing in the corner, and he was sure she had spotted his head poking out from behind the wall from the sour look that was across her face, but she never spoke up. She never alerted anyone else that he was there, watching. 

“You shall be Queen someday. It’s only right that you look the part.” The sweet fakeness to Joffrey’s voice caused Theon’s lips to curl. He almost took a step forward, wanting to make himself known and tell Joffrey where to go - before he stops himself. No need to get punished over this. “Will you forgive me? For my rudeness.” Joffrey dropped his head, playing a good act at being sorry. Though Theon knew he was not. 

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sansa almost looked captivated, under some kind of spell as she looked at Joffrey with love. She had a love for him and that scared Theon. Swore to protect her to Robb, and he had already broken that oath within a matter of weeks of being in King's Landing. 

“You’re my lady. One day we’ll be married in the throne room. Lord’s and lady’s from all over the seven kingdoms will come-” Theon broke off from listening, leaning his head and back against the wall as he look a sigh and closed his eyes. It felt like he was in a nightmare - constantly stuck in this loop and never getting out. He kicked the door and screamed for someone to let him out, but the room only seemed to get tighter and his lungs only seemed to dry up faster. It felt like he was under quicksand, drowning in the Lannister’s den, in the horrid heat of the South. He had to take several deep breaths. How could Sansa be cozying up with the boy who got her wolf killed? She was crying about Lady just the other day, and now… did she even remember what happened to Lady? Did she know about her father being attacked? About Jory dying?

As Theon turned his head to glance back around the corner, he noticed Joffrey’s hands cradling Sansa’s face between them, the two of them slowly getting closer and closer to one another. He wanted to shout out, throw something at the wall to distract them both and make it stop. She was kissing the enemy. Her lips touched his, and Theon felt the bile rising in his throat, tears stinging his eyes.

He didn’t even wait before taking off in the direction he had just came from to tell Lord Stark.

**

The three sat in Ned’s chambers, around his desk, not having any idea of what was about to happen. Had they done something wrong? Was the King or Queen angry at the three of them? Theon could not think of anything he had personally done in the last few days which would be considered as misbehaving, and he doubted that Sansa had done anything that was even a toe out of being a lady. They heard the hitting of the cane against the stone flooring as Ned entered the room, standing in front of the three, completely silent and not giving anything away.

“I’m sending the three of you back to Winterfell.” Ned finally spoke up. There was a mixed response from his two children and his ward, Sansa looking horrified, Theon looked relieved, and to Theon’s surprised, Arya didn’t seem to like the idea of leaving either.

Winterfell had never been ‘home’ to Theon, but neither had Pyke. The only place Theon felt the most at home, the most accepted, had been Harlaw, but he had only visited a few times in his childhood. He was happy to return to Winterfell, even if it meant that he wouldn’t be going back to Pyke, to his sister and mother. In Winterfell, there was Robb. Theon felt home with Robb. He felt at home with his mother as well, and his sister. But Robb, he had missed Robb.

“What?” Sansa squeaked out, causing a sigh from Ned who dropped his head.

“Listen-”

She cut him off. “What about Joffrey?” More concerned with her betrothed than her father barely being able to stand because of his leg. Theon stood from the chair, moving to help Ned sit himself down.

Arya was next to speak up. “Are you dying because of your leg? Is that why you’re sending us home?” A more reasonable question than Sansa’s, but rather dramatic for a broken leg.

“What? No-”

“Please please Father, you can’t.”

“I’ve got my lessons with Syrio. I’m finally getting good!”

“This isn’t a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety.” Theon was fine with that. He didn’t feel particularly safe in the South anyway.

“Can we take Syrio back with us?” Arya questioned, Sansa turning to her with a scowl. “Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher, I can’t go! I’m supposed to marry Prince Joffrey, I love him. I’m supposed to be his Queen and have his babies.” Theon screwed his face up at the thought, at the desperation that was coming from Sansa.

Arya had the same idea. “Seven hells.” She rolled her eyes.

“When your old enough… I’ll make you a match with someone who’s worthy of you. Someone who’s brave, gentle and strong.” Ned pleaded with her, and Theon found himself reflecting on himself. Was he brave, gentle and strong? He was certainly better at all of those traits than Prince Joffrey was anyway - not that Theon was offering himself up to marriage with Sansa. He’d run away within a week of hearing her nagging.

“I don’t want someone brave, gentle and strong! I want him.” A look was shared between Theon and Arya behind Sansa, both snickering. “He’ll be the greatest king there ever was, a golden lion and I’ll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair.”

“The lion’s not his sigil, idiot. He’s a stag like his father.” Arya corrected.

“He is not. He’s nothing like that old drunk king.”

Ned seemed to take in her words, a silence passing over the room as he thought about it. Theon wanted to know what he was thinking of, he wanted to know this secret, the reason Ned had been out doing all of this research. He went with Ned to visit one of Robert Baratheon’s bastards down in Flea Bottom - had Lord Stark been doing a similar research the day the Kingslayer and the Lannister guards had attacked he and Jory?

“Go on girls, go get your Septa and start packing your things. You as well, lad.” He turns, the cane hitting against the stone floor as well as Sansa called after him. “Wait!” She pleaded, being grabbed by the hand by Arya.

“Come on.”

“But it’s not fair!” He heard the cry of Sansa as she was dragged from the room, sending a final begging look to her father - to which he ignored.

Ned moved to sit down at his desk once both of the girls had left, hardly even noticing that Theon hadn’t went off with them and was still standing there, hands clasped behind his back and looking at Ned.

“Theon, go get your things packed.”   


“What is it you know, m’lord? Before… when Sansa made that comment about the Prince being nothing like King Robert… did it have to do with Robert’s bastard down in Flea Bottom? Or that day you got attacked?” He was full of questions, eager to know it all. He wanted to be Ned’s most trusted man now, Ned had no one else to tell his secret too apart from Vayon poole. “I’m grown enough! I’m basically a man, I can know. I can keep a secret, Lord Stark.”

“Theon…” Ned sighs, dropping his head a little as he placed his cane down to rest against the side of the desk. He crossed his arms in front of him, resting them on the desk as he gave a shake of his head. “It’s better if you don’t know. For your own safety.”

With a defeated sigh and a slouch of his shoulders, Theon disappeared through the door that Arya and Sansa had disappeared through, off to go and pack his things.

**

A ship docked that night, pulling into the port as men rushed to tie it up and get the cargo loaded off of it. A man holds his hand out as he steps off, a small gloved hand being placed into it.

“Step this way, m’lady. Be careful, it is dark out there.”

The hooded figure came down the ramp and stepped onto the stone, glancing around at the sea and the scenery, eyes locking on the Red Keep sitting up on the hill. There was a painted smirk on the lady’s lips, but her face could not be made out from the hooded cloak she was wearing. The men continued to unload trunks and boxes off of the ship behind them.

“My father always told us it was best to travel at night, where the eyes cannot see you and the sea is too loud for anyone to hear you… the salt sticking to your skin too much for them to smell you…”

The man was confused by the words of the figure, giving a shake of his head as he turned to make sure all of their luggage was taken off. “We should head up to the keep now, m’lady. Get a night's rest that isn’t on a boat.” He offered his arm, and she took it.

“I am Ironborn. I sleep better on a ship than on land.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @hcrlaws on twitter and tumblr.
> 
> kudos, comments, bookmarks etc are all greatly appreciated.


	6. GWYNESSE I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a strange chapter, kind of just there to fill in the space between important events, so i understand if you would prefer to skip out on it! nothing very important happens. 
> 
> i wont be able to write for a while until my assignments are done and sent away end of february, so i thought i'd at least write something for you guys.
> 
> also this chapter is... very gay. that's all i have to say.

The gardens outside of the Red Keep were bright and vibrant with many colours and different types of flowers, bushes and trees taller and higher than the Red Keep itself. SHe picked a rose out by the stem, staring at the red petals with a longing. The islands did not possess flowers, nor bushes, not even trees anymore. Every single one of them cut down - made into thousands of ships for the iron fleet, only to be burned and broken out on the seas at wars and by the troubling storms. Gwynesse’s heart clenched at the thought of the vibrant place that Harlaw used to be, full of trees and flowers just like the gardens she stood in now, before it was all ripped away and the skeleton was left behind. 

She winced, looking down at her bleeding finger and saw the small thorn buried underneath the skin. The thorn buried underneath her skin was like a symbolism, a call telling her that she was the thorn, and her feelings were buried deep underneath the layer of skin that she tried to convince herself, was her. She brought her finger to her lips, sucking the beading blood right from the source, attempting to use her teeth to pull the small thorn out. 

“Lady Gwynesse.” 

Spinning on her heels, she notices Cersei Lannister approaching her, hands clasped in front of her with two guards following along behind. Her golden locks bounced with every step she took, as golden as the sun itself that was beating heavily down onto them. Gwynesse released her finger from her mouth, the thorn still deep inside as she swallowed, straightening her posture. “Your grace.” 

Cersei had a charming aura about her, one smell and a person would be captivated by her. That’s what Gwynesse had tried to convince herself - that Cersei Lannister had put her under some sort of black magic to make her instantly interested in everything that she did. Every slight movement that she made, Gwynesse’s eyes would follow it. The Queen had her shaking at the knees, legs like jelly as she stood before her with her bleeding finger. 

“Your poor finger, what happened?” Cersei approached, hand held out and takes Gwynesse’s hand into hers, gently running her thumb across the wound which caused Gwynesse to wince out. 

“I uh… got distracted and pricked my finger. It’s not life threatening.” She cracked a smile, which Cersei returned, nodding as she dropped her hand and took that step back once more, creating an appropriate distance that suddenly Gwynesse hated. “I’m sorry about your husband.” She tried to make it senser, tried to sound real and compassionate, a bit sympathetic. But she wasn’t. She laughed hearing that the minute her foot touched the South, the King had been attacked by a boar and died. 

Cersei caught on, giving a cracked smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.” She walks forward, looking at the rose that Gwynesse had dropped onto the ground when she pricked her finger. Slowly, she bent down to pick it up, and offered it back out to Gwynesse. 

She took the rose, holding it more carefully now. “Losing your husband can still be hard, whether you love them or loathe them. Trying to get people to take you seriously after they are gone… that’s hard.” She thought of her own husband, murdered in the rebellion that no one but Balon wanted. Balon Greyjoy - the man who caused her family the most pain. 

“Is that why your brother is the Lord of Ten Towers and not you?” 

Gwynesse just gave a nod. 

Ten Towers should be hers. She was the oldest, nine years Rodrik’s elder. Alannys had never tried to claim Ten Towers as her own - being connected officially to the Greyjoy’s now and being middle child, but Rodrik, he had claimed what was not rightfully his. He was a man, and a man claims whatever he wants. He may be her brother, and she may love him, but he still claimed what was rightfully hers. 

“Your son… he will be King now, no?” Gwynesse asked, holding her hands clasped together behind her back and walking alongside the Queen as they walk through the tall rose bushes and trees, admiring the vibrant garden full of mystical colours that Gwynesse had not even knew existed, together.

“Yes. Joffrey will be King now. It’s rightfully his, and his betrothed will be Queen once they marry, but she’s not of age yet. We’re waiting till she has her first blood.”

Gwynesse swallowed, eyes cast down towards the ground as they walked further down towards the descending stoned staircase down to the beach. The thought of this young girl - not even had her first blood, being married to Joffrey, almost ages with what her nephew would be, caused a deep unsettlement inside of her stomach. She cleared her throat, ignoring the curious look the Queen shot towards her. 

“Who is this girl? Does your son like her?” 

The reaction that Cersei had - the scoff that came from between her lips and the roll of her green eyes, told Gwynesse all she needed to know. Perhaps the King liked his betrothed, but his mother certainly did not hold high opinion or expectations. 

“I don’t believe my son likes very many things… especially not her.” She looks down at the ground, her eyes shifting towards Gwynesse to watch for a reaction. “It’s Sansa. Sansa Stark, Ned Stark’s eldest daughter.” 

She hadn’t heard that name in years - a name that brought a silence to Ten Towers whenever it was said. Eventually, it had almost become a forbidden name to say, everyone too afraid to upset her younger sisters feelings, to bring up the man that practically ruined her life - along with the other two. But Balon’s name was one that couldn’t be forbidden, considering he was the Lord of Pyke. She almost let out a laugh as she remembered that he had attempted to be the King of Pyke once - not that it worked in his favour at all.

“Haven’t heard that name in years. Still as ugly as he was back then?” Gwynesse’s blue eyes finally met with Cersei’s greens, the two women sharing a look, a slight smirk and then laughing, linking their arms together almost automatically. 

“Of course he is. He’s a man. All men are ugly, especially on the inside.” Cersei stopped at the stairs, looking over the stoned wall down onto the beach. She dropped her arm from Gwynesse’s, her hands supporting her as she leans over to get a closer look down at the waves rolling in against the soft golden sand. 

Gwynesse slowly approached her, moving to lean over the wall as well. “I’ve never seen sand so golden… or the sea so clear and blue.” Her eyes were full of awe and fascination as she looks over the side, watching the waves lapping onto the sand. A smile stretches across her face, turning to the Queen with an outstretched hand. “Join me for a walk along the beach, your grace?”

A shake of her head, a nervous laugh as she clasped her hands together in front of her, peaking once more over the side down at the beach. “I couldn’t. My gown would get wet.” 

Gwynesse could tell that the curiosity was there. That the Queen wanted to go take a walk down on the beach with her - forget about whatever political issues were going on up at the Red Keep even just for a little while. So she held her hand out again, giving it a wiggle. It was smooth, only a few wrinkles for her being an older woman. “Your grace, even you deserve some time away from the chaos to relax by the sea… listen to the waves and maybe even dip your foot in. I promise that it feels good, enchanting, even.” 

Cersei took a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand against her face. “Fine. For a little while.” She made it clear, giving a look towards Gwynesse who crossed her fingers over her heart, kissing them and sending it to the Drowned God himself. A smooth hand was placed into hers, slightly larger. They both descended down the stoned staircase until their feet touched the sand, the different texture causing Cersei to gasp a little. Gwynesse tightened her grip on her hand, reaching down to take off her shoes, rolling down her stockings and balling them up, her bare feet touching the sand. 

“What are you doing?” The Queen gaped at her, surprised with the woman being so open and vulnerable around her. Gwynesse just smiled, giving a shrug as she drops her shoes and stockings onto the sand and slowly begins to walk backwards towards the sea.

“Being one with the sea.”

Cersei copied her, taking her shoes and stockings off, allowing her bare feet to touch the sand. She quickly made her way over to the other woman, slowly getting closer and closer to the gentle waves that were lapping against the beach. Their hands connect again, fingers brushing against one anothers as a toe dips into the water, then their whole foot, slowly moving until they were up to their ankles and their gowns were trailing through, getting soaked by the waves at the bottom. 

“It feels… nice. Calming.” The blonde hummed, staring out at the horizon that was straight in front of them. Gwynesse slowly moved to be beside her, eyes down on their hands that hovered close but never touching. She almost reached out, almost hooked her pinkie around hers, when Cersei moved her hand a little, and that moment was over. 

“It is warmer than it is at the islands. It’s usually very cold, and stormy.”   


Cersei took one look towards her, eyes softening with a slight tug of a smile on the corner of her lips. “I bet you were born during a storm.” The two look at each other. “You have the storm in your eyes.”

Cersei gave a little smirk before she kicked her foot out, splashing some water against Gwynesse’s face, causing her to gasp, wiping the water from her cheek. 

“No you didn’t… your grace, you do not want to have this fight with me. I was born in the water, I’m practically a shark.” Cersei gave a laugh, shaking her head as she flicked some water at her again. 

“What if I do want to have this fight with you?” 

“Then you have already accepted your defeat.” 

Water flew up from their feet, even their hands getting involved as they throw bigger splashes at one another, laughing as the birds sang around them, the sea getting rougher as it begins to come in on the beach the lower the sun gets. Their hair was soaked, hanging down Cersei’s shoulders while Gwynesse’s was falling out of her tight updo, small baby hairs sticking to her face. Their dresses were soaked through, their skin glistening with the salt that stuck to it. They laughed and gasped for their breathes, looking at one another. 

“Thank you. For showing me what it is like to be free. Even just for a little while.” Cersei hums as the two of them kick their way through the waves and back onto the shore, collecting their stockings and shoes into their hands, not bothering to put them on because of the sand sticking to their feet. 

“Everyone deserves to feel free.” Gwynesse pushes her hair back from her face, offering a smile. They reach the steps just to see one of the Lannister guards rushing down to get to them, slightly out of breath. 

“Your grace! We need to get you back to the Red Keep, for your protection.” 

Cersei gave a nod, knowing what was happening as she slid into her shoes and ignored the rough sand stuck on her skin, moving up the stairs. A hobbling Gwynesse followed behind, barefoot and confused. 

“What’s happening?” 

“I never told you before… He’s here.” Cersei told her, both of them hurrying behind the guards back towards the Red Keep. “Eddard Stark is here, and he committed a terrible treason, Lady Gwynesse.”

** 

The Red Keep was in chaos, the sounds of screaming men and throats getting cut outside of the stoned walls causing chills to go down Theon’s spine and his heart hammering against his chest. Cries came from people within the keep too as the Lannister guards would run on past them, pushing them out of the way. 

Theon was hiding, shaking as he held his dagger in hand and at the ready to strike at anyone who would come close to him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, remembering the look on Vayon Poole’s face as his throat was slit moments after telling Theon to run and never look back. 

And so here he was, crouched as small as he could get, crying and shaking with a pitiful dagger in his grip. 

Voices came close, and he turned to peak round to see Sansa and Septa approaching quicker and quicker to him, both of them seeming to be on their way together. Guards came up behind them, wearing the gold and deep red armour of House Lannister. Theon gulped, watching in fear, like a coward. 

“She didn’t forget. She’s with her dancing master, she always comes back with bumps and bruises, she’s always with him.” Sansa rolled her eyes, only stopping when the Septa grabbed her by the arm, looking at the guards coming their way. 

“Go back to your room. Bar the doors, and do not open for anyone you do not know.” Her voice was hurried and hushed, demanding Sansa, pleading her to do as she’s told. 

“What is it? What’s happening?” Sansa’s voice shakes, Septa Mordane turning to look at her face.

“Do as I told you. Run.” 

Sansa turned, gasping as she runs, her heels clicking against the stone floor as she fast approaches Theon’s hiding spot. She almost ran right past before Theon reached an arm out, grabbing her and pulling her in behind the wall, a hand going over her mouth. “Shh. It’s me. Please don’t get us caught..” 

They stayed hushed as they heard the guards metal armour moving as they approached Septa, and both of them peaked their heads around the corner in time to see her throat slit, Sansa almost crying out if Theon hadn’t turned and buried her face into his chest. He too cried out for the Septa, but in his mind. Septa Mordane had never been a fan of him - but she was kind to others, and she was brave. He would remember that she was brave. 

“We have to go.” They gripped hands as they made sure the guards were gone, the blood in the stone where they had killed the Septa and dragged her body off. Sansa whimpered at the sight, and Theon had to turn away as tears burned his eyes, but the two of them ran in the direction of Sansa’s chambers - where Septa had told her to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @hcrlaws on twitter and tumblr.
> 
> kudos, comments, bookmarks etc are always appreciated!


	7. GWYNESSE II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwynesse watches a girl beg for her father's life in front of the new King — later having a long overdue talk with that same father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for a bit of a wait for this update ! college has been busy and exams must be done. i should be back to my chapter once a week — two weeks at most from now on.
> 
> i've decided to start naming the chapters with who's POV it is, like george does and even some of my favourite fic writers. it seems to be an easier way to keep track for me — and you readers. 
> 
> again sorry for the wait, and i will start replying to your lovely comments — not so focused on bad ones like i have been. also big thank you to synne @procellous, for reading this chapter before posting and boosting my confidence with it.

The throne room was vibrating with excitement, the people talking loud in amongst their groups of lords and ladies, speaking of the new King and how he would do their kingdoms well. King Joffrey sat upon that hideous chair, all the melted swords holding it together behind his back. He was slouched against it in an uncaring manor, clearly not interested in the worries and troubles that the people were bringing to him on that day. It wasn’t entertaining enough for the sadistic King. 

Gwynesse stood in the shadows, away from the eyes of the King, his mother and the people that surrounded her. She wasn’t important enough, wasn’t highborn enough for them to care about her presence. They hardly even noticed she was there at all — and she wondered if she was to pull her dagger out from the strap in her stockings underneath her dress and hold it out — curse some things at the crowd in the Ironborn tongue, would they finally notice that she was there? Would they run and scream like they always did? Shield their children away from the horrible Ironborn that they tell them horror stories about before bed on a stormy night?

Ser Barristan Selmy was called up, standing proud and tall in his white cloak and shining armour, sword at his side. Gwynesse had never seen a more proud knight than him, but she had only really met one knight — Harras was her younger cousin, father ironborn and mother a greenlander. He had been just a boy when the rebellion happened. When Rodrik Greyjoy was slain right before his eyes and tossed into the sea. Rumour from men that had been at Seaguard with them that night say that Harras had tried to jump in after his friend and cousin, trying to fish his body out of the water to bring him back home. Harras had broken down in front of her sister many times, apologising for not bringing her eldests body back. 

Ser Barristan was full of pride and one could see it just from looking at him. He stood in front of the court, in front of the new King and the King’s mother, and was slowly stripped of his honour in front of everyone — gasps and mumbles across the court as the knight tried to fight against it. The dog would be taking his place. With his face scarred from burns, his ear burnt right off that only a hole remained in its place. He would be the new Kingsguard, to protect the young King through it all. Ser Barristan was humiliated, leaving his white cloak laying on the floor at the steps where the Iron Throne sat, storming out of the throne room after threatening to slice through all of the Kingsguard just on his own.

She had not seen a man’s pride wounded so badly than when her eyes followed the sour face of Ser Barristan out of the throne room, the grand wooden doors shutting locked behind him. Ser Barristan had been the knight for King Aerys and King Robert, and now he was nothing. Nothing but an old man with many stories of great battles and victories to share with people that were itching to hear about them. 

“Next!” The King shouted across the crowd, dismissing the local farmers that had came to complain to him about their sheep not doing so well in the horrendous heat of the South, as if Joffrey Baratheon was some sort of God would could clap his hands together and bring the rain down to water their fields and cool down their animals. 

A girl stepped forward, hands clasped into fists at her side. She was small, petite, and everyone’s eyes were on her, judging her and whispering in their little groups once more as she stepped forward in front of the throne. She dropped to her knees in front of the King, eyes looking up at him on that uncomfortable throne. Her pale blue gown pooling around her as she choked on her own sobs and begged for her father’s life. She begged for Eddard Stark’s life to be spared, for her betrothed to see mercy, for him to allow her father to go. 

Gwynesse’s mind was conflicted. She had not seen Eddard Stark in nearly ten years, remembered him as a cold man, not a single emotion on his face as he took her nephew from her sister’s arms, took him onto one of his ships and sailed away — never to be seen again. She remembered how she watched the ship sail away, her younger brother, Rodrik, dragging a soaked Alannys back onto the beach as she tried to go after the ship, her skirts holding her down. 

Gwynesse remembered feeling a deep rage ever since that day whenever the man’s name was mentioned. She remembered holding her sister while she cried many nights, promising her that she would bring Theon home, along with Eddard’s head. 

Now looking at his daughter, down on the floor on her knees, the marble flooring surely digging into her poor white skin and making her uncomfortable, embarrassing herself in front of a court full of people as she cried and sobbed and called for the Gods and the King to bless her father and not let him be killed. Gwynesse felt her eyes beginning to wet, tears forming as she quickly blinked them away before any could fall down her cheeks. She had to be strong, not fall apart in front of the court.  _ I am Ironborn. I must always be strong as the rocks and cold as the sea. Salt runs through my veins. _ She wanted to call out to the King, step forward and make herself known for the sake of this poor girl — tell them she believed the man deserved to be spared ; punished of course, but spared of death.

Would Asha beg for her father’s life like that? Knowing that Balon was a horrid man? 

They decided they would be calling for Eddard to confess to his crimes in front of the Sept, where the Gods could judge him and hear his crimes, and then, he would be released to the Night's Watch, stripped of all titles and forced to serve the Realm for the rest of his life. But Gwynesse knew the Gods, and she knew the look in the King’s eyes as he looked down at a smiling Sansa, his lips twisted and cruel. 

The Gods would not be kind to Lord Stark, for they had not been kind to Quellon Greyjoy during Robert’s Rebellion, nor her sister during Balon’s Rebellion. The Gods were never kind to people who deserved their mercy the most.

**

Gwynesse was one of the last people to move from the wall she leaned against, following the crowd along towards the now open grand doors, exiting the throne room. She had been watching as the King stood from the chair of a thousand melted swords and offered his hand to Lady Sansa, helping her from the ground and escorting her off in the other direction. Her eyes had found Cersei — standing like a true lioness like she was supposed to be beside the Iron Throne. She looked at Sansa with a smile of pity that quickly turned into a scowl once the child’s back had been turned. Cersei now looked upon the Iron Throne with a hunger, almost drooling over it — she was a truly lioness looking at her prey ; the Iron Throne. 

Gwynesse turned her back, heels clicking against the marble floors as she picks up her long and heavy skirts with her hands and heads for the doors, making it out of them just for a hand to take hold of her wrist, turning her back. “Lady Gwynesse.”   


The sweet honey-like voice of Cersei Lannister filled her ears as she turned towards her, frowning her eyebrows in question. Her eyes looked down towards the outstretched hand, seeing the small golden key with the lion head held delicately in the palm of the Queen — or was she just Lady Cersei now? 

“Your grace?” She calls her anyway, seeming to please Cersei. In reply, Cersei holds the key now between her forefinger and her thumb, stepping closer to close the gap between them. They were almost chest to chest, the sleeves of their gowns touching as the Queen moved her hand to the midsection of Gwynesse’s gown where it was held together by a fabric belt, slipping the key in slowly, before covering it up. She gave it a pat, almost taking the breath right from Gwynesse. Their eyes met, brown on emerald green — and Gwynesse’s mind instantly thought of the way Cersei looked at her like she looked at the Iron Throne. Like prey. 

“Fourth cell in the dungeons, past the dragons skulls. That’s where you’ll find him.” 

Her hand ghosted against the waist of Gwynesse before she turned and left with two guards escorting her. Gwynesse stood, hand braced against her chest before it moved down, her arm shielding the part of her dress where the key had been hidden. 

**

The dungeons were dark and cold, only torches lit against the stoned walls to lead her way down the corridors. Gwynesse heard the moaning, crying and screaming of several people trapped down there, having to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment and take a deep breath. She was not a violent person — none of the Harlaw’s were. The Harlaw’s were known for their skills in charisma, able to talk themselves out of anything violent and any war. They were observers — talented in being able to read other’s body language so well, paying attention to their weaknesses so they knew when to make a strike against them. Ten Towers did not have dungeons. They did not keep prisoners, for they did not believe in conflict. 

The dungeons were eerily silent towards the end, where the cell of Eddard Stark was. As she approached the door, she didn’t hear even slight movement coming from inside — wondering for the moment if the man was already dead inside. The guards gave her a nod, stepping out of the way to allow her in. The golden lion key turns in the lock before the heavy cell door creaks open — a little light shining from outside where the torches were and onto the body slumped against the wall.

“Water… please…” He moaned out, a hand outstretched towards where Gwynesse stood with a small lit candle in one hand, a flask in the other. She slowly allowed him to reach the flask, watching as he was quick to unscrew the cap and gulp water down, handing it back once it was empty. “My thanks… m’lady..” 

“Keep your thanks, Lord Stark, you will need them for when you stand in front of the Gods.” 

She slid into the room, hearing the heavy door shutting behind her. Dusting off the bench in the cell, she sat herself down, placing the candle light down beside her. Clasping her hands together, she looked at the man who peaked at her through his straw like hair, eyes wide and blood shot. There was a silence in the cell, neither of them knowing how to talk to the other. 

“Are they going to kill me? The Lannisters?” He finally speaks up his concern, but seems to sound more like he had just accepted his fate of death. Gwynesse replies with a shake of her head, straightening out her skirts and flattening out the creases. 

“Not if they don’t want a war they won't.” She pauses. “Your daughter, Sansa, she came to beg for your life in front of the court just hours ago… a very brave act for her to do so young, down on her knees in front of our new King like that.” She picks at her nails while she speaks, pursing her lips. “I believe that’s why they won't kill you. Because of her. Because of her act of bravery.” 

Ned looked at her, a look of pride coming into his eyes as he thought of his daughter doing such a thing for him — he had believed her to still be so upset with him. “I tried to leave. I told my daughters and my ward to pack their things because we’d be leaving… then I gave Cersei the letter, signed by the King Robert himself on his deathbed saying I should be the one to sit on the throne till Joffrey was old and wise enough… but she accused me of trying to steal the throne instead- said that I made the whole letter myself.” 

“Your ward?” Eyes fixed onto his, swallowing the air that seemed to have been trapped in her throat as she gaped at him. “Theon… Greyjoy? He’s here?” Her hands gripped the edge of the bench, ready to rush from the cell and find him. She’d get onto the ship that would be the soonest leaving the docks — she’d flee with her nephew and never look back. Ned Stark could not do anything, his titles being stripped from him and sent off to the wall — and Robert Baratheon ; body already cold and rotting away. No one could stop them. 

“If they haven’t killed him already… they killed the rest of my men… maybe him too, m’lady.”

Another swallow. Theon could be dead, along with the other men that Lord Stark had brought South with him. Poor innocent Theon, only but a boy. Gwynesse remembered when he was first born — he had been the smallest of all her sister’s children. Theon was so different from the rest — quiet, shy, preferred the company of his mother or the Master of Arms, Dagmer Cleftjaw. He had never had any entertainment when it came to finger dancing, or being rough like his older brother’s. He had liked to read, to draw. He knew how to braid Alannys hair by the age of three — his tiny fingers being the best at doing the elegant twists and turns that Alannys had grown to love. The rebellion had been terrifying for them all — but especially for Theon, clutching his mother’s skirts while the fire raged on and the doors were taken down on the keep. He clutched his mother’s hand until he no longer could — as the man sitting against the stone wall, looking dead already, took him away with her sister screaming behind them. 

As this came to mind, her eyes turned to him once more and narrowed a little. “If Theon is dead… it’ll be your fault, Lord Stark. She will never forgive you, nor will I.” He refused to meet her narrowed eyes, his eyes focused on the damp ground, knees hurting from digging into the cold stone. 

“Who are you? What is your relation to Theon?” There seemed a bit of possessiveness in his tone — protection. It caused a scoff from Gwynesse and a shake of her head as she stood, flask in hand and paced in the small box sized cell. She could not sit, she could not sit and look upon his hideous face — slick with sweat, hair sticking like little rat tails to his forehead and cheeks. He looked disgusting — he looked dead. A living ghost sitting in the cells of the Red Keep just waiting for his spirit and soul to move on. 

She ignored his question. “Why are men selfish, Lord Stark?”

He swallowed. “I don’t know, m’lady…” He trailed off. “Why are you here?” 

“I ask the questions.” She spins on her heels and looks down at him, towering with her pale red hair turning white falling from the updo it was in, framing her face and locks falling down onto her shoulders. “Why do men not care about their wives? Their children? Why do they only care for themselves?” 

Shaking his head, Ned coughed over his words. “Father’s care for their children… I care for my children.” 

She held the flask out to him for the last of the water, watching as he snatched it and drank every last droplet of water, gagging for the thirst to go away. Were they even feeding him? Keeping him as hydrated as possible? Enough to keep him alive? She leans against the wall, looking at her nails again as she picked at them. “You shouldn’t have brought your daughter’s here… to the lion’s den. They will never make it out alive. You can barely make it out alive.” She stands straight. “What hope do they have? What hope does my  _ nephew _ have?” 

Ned watched through half closed eyes as she kneeled down to his level, stormy eyes meeting his cold eyes. “You’re.. Lady Alannys sister?” 

She offered a nod in reply, lips curling over her lips in a sneer. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t take my dagger out and slit your throat right now? They wouldn’t find you for at least another day… not till they brought you a meal, or to stand in front of the Sept… I doubt the Queen would even care, perhaps she’d even cover for me…she had been the one to give me the key to your cell…” She smirks a little, reaching underneath the long skirts and into her garter, detaching the dagger and holding it out in front of his face, blade glinting in the light from the lone candle, reflecting into his eyes like a warning. She watched as he swallowed the air in his throat, seeing a bead of sweat coming down his forehead. 

“You wouldn’t… Harlaw’s are known for being good… for not killing. Your brother is praised for fighting against the Old Way and for not being violent, but a political man, an intelligent man.” 

“Good thing I am not my brother then.” 

She kept the blade in front of his eyes for a moment, scowling as she slid it back underneath her skirts, careful to not cut herself and back into her garter. She finds herself moving to sit back, not caring to ruin her dress as she sat across from the man she hated - perhaps not as much as Balon but Eddard was close second. 

“My nephew… what is he like?” 

**

Their short interaction had been exactly that. Short. After questioning what Theon was like as a grown boy, almost a man, she had not been pleased with the answer that she was replied with. Ned Stark went on to tell how he was his eldest son's best friend — his foe. One never saw without the other. He commented on how it displeased his wife — a Tully and bound by marriage Stark, forever hating the ironborn because of the bad blood between the Islands and Riverrun. She didn’t trust Theon, and neither did Stark though he never outwardly voiced it to her, his eyes always drifting down to look at her skirts, remembering what laid underneath, a cunt and a blade — both could easily destroy him. It made her cackle. 

She now walked down the hall, that golden key long forgotten and given back to the guards at the cell door, happily to allow them to lock it behind her and set the man rot behind it if they will — she was sure he would be sulking and feeling pity for himself after she threw the very flask he had been drinking from at his head when he muttered the words of how he tried to “gentle” her already gentle nephew. “Theon did not need gentled!” She had cried out at him, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “He was quiet and shy! He was scared! The Rebellion scared him! You scared him!” 

Her anger had gotten the best of her, cursing and spitting down on the stone floor at his feet. It had been unlady of her — her brother would be displeased and disappointed in her behaviour, but it was what she thought of him, what she thought of them all. She wanted to scream and shout, call on the Drowned God himself to drown them all underneath his waves, spare her nephew only. She cared for no one else. 

Her last words towards Lord Stark had been cold, no emotion in her face as she looked towards his bleeding forehead where the flask had connected with his skin and split it. “May the Old Gods and the New Gods be kind to you, Lord Stark. For the Drowned God will not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @hcrlaws on twitter and tumblr. 
> 
> all comments, kudos, bookmarks etc are very much appreciated. i love reading your thoughts!


	8. Theon V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Sansa bicker over the letter sent to Robb and her devotion to King Joffrey before the horrid beheading of Eddard Stark along with the reunion of a long lost nephew and aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter started out literally just real damn depressing and I hated it and did not want to publish it. and then I got landed with so many assignments and college work. but I should be back now given my college has closed due to the horrific situation that is happening in the world right now. 
> 
> which is why I decided to add in that really touching last scene in this chapter instead of the next, because I think Theon deserves a hug.

An eye peaked around the corner and towards the wooden door that had shut what felt like days ago, locking Sansa behind it with the bloodsucking Lannister’s, getting the eldest Stark girl to hang off every word that left their perfect shaped lips with a simple smile, a single golden hair piece twisted around their finger. Great anxiety filled Theon as he waited for the door to open - hidden away from the guards that stood in front of it. He needed to know if she was okay behind it. What was taking so long? Were they feeding another one of their lies to her?

Knowing Cersei and Lord Baelish, both behind that wooden door with Sansa, they were feeding lies to her. Great promises of Eddard’s release, her betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon still being intact - despite the fact the Lannister’s had told the entire seven kingdoms that Eddard Stark committed treason against the crown before the corpse of Robert Baratheon was cold. His heart hammers against his chest in an unusual rhythm, swallowing that lump that formed into his throat. Let her be okay.

The door opens, Sansa’s red locks being the first thing his eyes lay upon. He didn’t see any tears from her - but a bright smile across her lips. It caused his stomach to twist, palms to grow sweaty as he rubs them against the legs of his breeches, watching as her heels clicked the stoned flooring as she approaches, not noticing him tucked into a corner as she walked on by. His feet follow, turning to look back and make sure no guard was following them in the direction of her chambers. 

“Sansa.” His hand reaches out, fingers locking around her delicate wrist. Their eyes found one another - the smile quickly wiping from her lips once she laid sight upon him. She manages to take her arm from his grasp, nodding for him to follow along behind. 

There was silence between them until there was a wooden door keeping them separated from others - locked away into her chambers. Neither of them wanted to speak of whatever had happened back in the room with Cersei and Baelish, Sansa finally sitting against the end of her bed, fingers twirling into the furs. 

“Father will be safe - spared. He is to take the black, go to the wall, all his titles will be stripped from him but he will be safe and alive. We all will be safe and alive.” She seemed hopeful from her tone, looking up at Theon with those big Tully blue eyes of hers - the same as Robb’s, Catelyn’s and Bran’s.

Theon was silent, hands clasped behind his back. Lord Eddard would not be spared. Theon was no fool to the Lannister’s words, no fool to the ways of politics. He was a grown boy - practically a man. He had been ward of Eddard Stark for half of his life - he knew how hostages worked. Though the Lannister’s did not cloth, bathe, feed and offer a bed for Eddard to sleep in - he and Theon were all the same. Hostages. Taken from their families with no promises of seeing them again. “They would be foolish to let him go, and they won't. They’re feeding you lies and you eat it right up from their hand like a desperate and starving puppy.” His voice grows harsher, eyes narrowing in on her. He stepped closer - watching as she leaned herself back. Not in fear, but in shock of how he spoke to her.

“How… dare you speak to me in that manner! I did this to save my father! I sent the letter to Robb.” 

He could almost hear her swallowing from across the room, clearly having not wanted to mention the letter she had sent to Robb. Theon’s eyes grew wide, staring at her. “What letter to Robb?”

“Cersei… asked me to write a letter to my brother, asking him to call off the bannermen and to stop the war. In exchange for Father’s life…” 

“Sansa!” A frustrated hand comes through his wild locks, growing longer and more curled by the day. He almost stormed across the floor to her, dropping onto his knees in front of her. Their eyes were level with one another - a hand reaching out and placing over the top of her shaking hand. “You stupid, naive little girl… They’re playing you. The only enemies we don’t have in this city? Is each other.” 

Her eyes were locked onto his, head ducking a little in shame. He reached a finger out and tilted her head back up, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. She needed the reassurance that everything would work out - even if he deeply did not think it would. “We are in the lion’s den… and you are going to die in it if you are not careful, Stark.” His thumb caressed her cheek, wiping away the tear that rolled down. He could almost feel her leaning into his touch. Almost.

“My mother always tells me that Greyjoy’s are the enemies.” A cold expression comes across her face, lifting herself from the bed and away from the touch of his hand. “Perhaps you’re the enemy, Theon.”

*

The Sept of Baelor was tall, proud and beautiful. A real place to come and pray to the New Gods and be seen by all. It cast shadows on the ground, large and overtaking the shadows that were made by the bodies of people, horses and wheelhouses that took them to watch Eddard Stark call himself a traitor to the crown and strip himself of all titles - all to take the black and freeze his balls off at the wall with his bastard. 

It all left a sour taste in Theon’s mouth as they approached, Sansa beside him with the same pursed lips and sour look upon her face. But her look was gazed on him - still angry from their earlier argument, because she knew he was right. It almost would have made Theon smug, if it hadn’t been such an upsetting situation they were about to walk in and witness. 

The bells were loud, causing a dull headache to form in Theon’s head as he came to stand on the stage alongside Sansa and Cersei, King Joffrey standing just a little in front with the other Lannister guards and the High Septon. The crowds were loud and wide, stretching far back towards Flea Bottom where most of the crowd had come from - wanting to see the Hand of the King be punished for the crimes that the Lannisters had fed them with like it was the common folks first meal that week. It was only natural that Ned was brought out the archway and forced to walk his way through the crowd of common folk to get to the stage, but watching as his lord limped his way through, two guards on either side of him gripping and pulling at his arms, the crowd getting angrier ; hissing at him, shouting out vile names that would have the Gods covering their ears, trying to get a grip of Lord Stark and pull him into the crowd with them to have their own beating of them. It all made Theon sick. How they were so loyal to a house that was not loyal to them - that did not protect them at all and just fed them with gossip and lies and maybe a loaf of bread to share between 100 of them. 

Sansa smiled as Ned was brought along the front of the stage in front of them, Lord Baelish having that horrific half friendly smile across his face that brought Theon’s stomach turning and tossing. Theon wanted to do the same as Sansa - offer Ned a smile of reassurance, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to Eddard. Just like Eddard had never lied to him of what would happen if Balon Greyjoy was to rebel one day again.

The guards that were holding Ned slowly placed him into the centre of the stage, and moved away just as he began to speak of his treason. 

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King.” The crowd had now gone silent to hear him, and Ned turned to look at his daughter and Theon for reassurance to continue. Sansa nodded and smiled for the both of them as Theon looked sullom and forward towards the crowd. “I come before you, to confess my treason. In the sight of Gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King.. and the trust of my friend, Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son.. And seize the throne for myself.”

The crowd let out an outcry at his final confession - an untrue confession. ‘Traitor’ screamed at him from men, women and children and something was thrown up and smacked into the side of Ned’s head - reopening a wound that was already scabbed over and healing. He stumbled a bit, the King’s dog coming to offer him a hand to get himself back up - straight and proud like Theon had always known Lord Eddard to be. Theon had never seen a man look so broken and defeated.

“Let the High Septon and all bare witness to what I say....” He stops, swallowing. “Joffrey Baratheon.. Is the one true heir to the Iron Throne.” Joffrey turned to look at his mother with a smug smile, happy to hear what Eddard was saying - even if he did not mean it truly. “By the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the Realm.” 

Maester Pycelle was the one to cut off the outcry of the crowd. “As-As we sin.. So do we suffer.. This man has confessed his crimes in front of Gods and men. The Gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful.” He turns to Joffrey, slowly in his old age. “What is to be done with this traitor, your grace?” 

The crowd screamed out, all shouting different punishments they thought that Eddard should have. Theon had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the pride that came from Joffrey as he was able to simply raise his hand and silence them all once more. A child wearing a crown, he wanted to snap out. He wanted to call out if they were to take Eddard as prisoner, then they can take him as well. Instead he stayed silent - fearing for his own head that he was sure Joffrey would have no trouble in taking. 

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night’s Watch, stripped of all titles and power as he would serve the Realm in permanent exile.” His eyes turned towards where Theon and Sansa stood, that soft look in his evil eyes that had Sansa practically falling at his feet just the other day when Theon caught them sharing a kiss. Theon scowled a little, facing away. “And my lady Sansa.. Has begged mercy for her father.” Sansa gives him a smile, so sure of herself and everything that had been promised. Theon was about to move himself, step a foot forward and call out to the Drowned God, for he would listen to Theon and he would be truly merciful. He would call to the Old Gods, who were Eddard’s Gods themselves. ‘Lord Eddard is not a traitor! They’re lying!’He wanted to call. He was so close to it-

“But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished.” Sansa was gaping at him, her breathing picking up that Theon knew she was as shocked as everyone else was. Even Cersei herself looked shocked at her son’s words. “Ser Illyn, bring me his head.”

An instant reaction came from the young Greyjoy, his hand reaching out and shoving the guard that stepped towards a distraught Sansa, wrapping his arm around Sansa’s waist and pulling her back against him as she went to step out, her mouth opening with yells towards Joffrey himself coming out. It was all a mixture of a blur inside Theon’s head - the shout of the crowd, Queen Cersei herself snapping at her son and demanding to know what he was doing, and Sansa ; already crying and fighting against his grip. “Someone please stop him!” She cried out in his arms, her legs kicking and her nails biting into the skin on his arms. The guards gripped Eddard again and forced him down onto his knees, Ser Ilyn Payne making his way up the stairs to the stage, pulling the executioner mask over his sullon face. Theon gripped at Sansa tighter, gasping at the sight across her shoulders as he watched Lord Eddard’s very own sword - the sword he himself had been said to be executed with one day if his father rebelled - was drawn out of its sleeve, the sleeve he had held and watched Eddard take the sword out for executions many times before. 

This execution was nothing like the others Theon had witnessed in his lifetime. When he was seven, he watched his uncle drowning a man in the sea for placing his hands against his mother during their weekly walk through Lordsport. His father had been furious that someone had dared to place their hands against his wife - he had wanted to keep the man alive, and just take his hands instead. But his uncles had fought against him - well, Aeron and Urrigon did, and so the man was drowned and offered to the Drowned God himself. He had of course witnessed real executions done by Ned - many deserters of the Night’s Watch being punished for their crime. There had always been silence during those beheadings - and even during the man being drowned when he was just a young boy. Not this one. Sansa’s screams were loud in his ears. “Theon let go of me! No, Theon stop them please!” But there was nothing he could do. 

“Lord Eddard!” Theon finally found his voice and screamed out, voice breaking in the middle as the tears formed in his eyes. Ned seemed to be thinking of something else - anything else until he heard his ward screaming his name, and his eyes found the young boys, shaking his head at him. “Look away, Theon. Please look away lad..” 

And he did. Theon tucked his face into the back of Sansa’s neck and squeezed his eyes shut just as Lord Eddard bowed his head in defeat. He hoped and prayed that Sansa was closing her eyes as well - but from the sounds of her screams, she was not. He heard the swing of the sword cutting down, so like the dream he had so many times of Ned beheading him with the same great sword. There was a slicing sound, and Theon let out a sob into Sansa’s done up hair, gripping at her waist, one of her hands in his. Theon raised his eyes enough to see the blood dripping from the sword, Ilyn holding up Lord Eddard’s head for the crowd to see as they cheered over it. He buried his face back into Sansa’s neck and felt her go limp against him - fainting from the sight of her father’s beheading. 

“Get her out of here, Squid!” he heard the shout of Sandor Clegane as he grabbed him by the hair and dragged his head back so Theon could see him. “She needs you right now. Suck it up and get her out of here.” 

He agreed, sucking his sobs in for the moment while lifting Sansa up and across his shoulder, carrying her off the stage in a push and shove of hurry through other people while they still dragged Ned’s body off the stage and displayed his head. 

*

He panted as he ran through the streets, not a single horse or wheelhouse insight. His eyes looked in a hurry and tried to remember his way back to the Red Keep, looking up at it in the sky and trying to decide what street to take and what way to enter the Keep itself. He could not be seen - not with Sansa in his arms like this. They’ll want to see her with their smug looks on their faces, and he couldn’t let that happen. No, she needed her rest. A peaceful sleep where her father was still alive and they were all safe in Winterfell was what she needed. 

He almost doesn’t hear the calls of his name as they enter into the Keep, rushing up the stoned staircases and through the corridors, other Lords and Ladies passing them with sad, sympathetic looks in their eyes. It was all fake, and a lie. The whole of Kings Landing was a lie. 

“Theon!” He turns, almost dropping Sansa from shock of seeing the older woman, white hair pulled back in a simple bun, hands bunching up her black skirts with the silver belt holding the piece together. He caught the glimmer of the blade underneath her skirts, a choked sob forming in his throat.

“Aunt Gwyn..” 

She shook her head, hand resting on his arm as she glanced nervously back over her shoulder at the empty corridor. “Not now, my boy… let’s get her to my chambers. They won't look for her there.” 

He nods in agreement as she guides them off into further corridors, into the darker spot of the Keep with less rooms and less people. The wooden door swings open and shuts gently behind them. He hears the turning of the lock as he places Sansa down onto the silk covered bed, bringing them up and over her body once he got her shoes from her feet for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her forehead, a tear dripping from his eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“What an earth do you have to be sorry for, Theon Greyjoy? Nothing. Lord Eddard’s death was not your fault- you could have done nothing to stop it without them taking your head and mounting it up beside his like a trophy for the whole South to look at, mock and spit at.” 

He had forgotten the presence of his late aunt, his only aunt, a gentle gasp coming from his lips, another choked sob forming in his throat. His thoughts trailed away from Lord Stark just for a moment, and focused at the woman standing in front of him, her lips pursed to one side of her mouth, tears in her eyes as well. 

“Look at you.. Theon is all grown up.” She smiled a little - she had never been one for many smiles. She had been known to give the most comforting hugs, and he desperately wanted one in that moment. He wanted to smell the sea and the salt from her, and the smell of the flowers that she always had plastered all over her home. Though he did not know what her home would be like now - her husband had died in the rebellion, same as his brothers. “Are you two much of a man to hug your old Aunt Gwynesse? I might not have many days left you know, Theon. My back is getting a little sore, and sometimes I cannot remember where I placed my jewellery..” She teased at him, that twinkle in her eyes.

He did not wait a moment before his arms were around her - and hers around him, both breathing each other in. His eyes closed, but not like before with Eddard, but more softly, and a sigh of relief came from him at the feeling of someone from home, someone from his family being near him and being held in their arms again. He had longed for it for so long, and finally had it.

“You smell like a dog.” She teased again, breaking the moment and making him snort.

“You smell like you, Aunt Gwyn… and books?” She groaned and shook her head. 

“Been around your uncle too long, don’t ruin the moment by speaking of that cunt.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you have enjoyed this chapter! so sorry for the long delay. I should be back to my schedule of weekly updating now. 
> 
> kudos/comments/bookmarks are greatly appreciated. follow me on twitter & tumblr @hcrlaws.


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